Coming Into His Own
by kerry911
Summary: Sequel to "Much Ado About Hermione." Life after Hogwarts is not as tranquil as Harry had hoped, and is made even harder by the resurfacing of a former flame.
1. The Nightlife Revisited

Chapter 1: The Nightlife Re-visited  
  
The sun's rays of gold and yellow shined on that Chelsea neighborhood in the West End of London. It was a quiet Monday morning, except for the noise of the bin lorries that made their rounds around the community. On a tree-lined street occupied by terraced townhouses stood a white stucco Victoria mansion. Once the home of Dukes and Earls, it had now been converted into luxury flats. An American couple on holiday passed by the building on their way to catch the tube to watch the Changing of the Guards. If only they knew that in that building lived an individual who was more extraordinary than any of the pomp and circumstance that took place at Buckingham Palace.  
  
Occupying the fifth and sixth floors of that building was a most unusual young man indeed. He was well renowned in the secretive wizarding world that existed in the United Kingdom.  
  
Harry Potter was the most famous wizard of his time; other wizards tipped off their hats to him, and witches kissed his hand and pointed him out to their children when they saw him walking on the street. These acts of public adoration always embarrassed the young man - for his reserved nature could not handle being made the center of attention - causing him to hide his blushing cheeks, as the crowd of people swarmed around him, their hands reaching out to touch or pat him on the back. Of course, in the Muggle world he was anonymous, except for the times young boys mistook him for footballer Michael Owen, and asked for his autograph.   
  
This young man of twenty had lived a life plagued with hardships, loneliness and near deaths. But all of those trials and tribulations were all but gone from his life; he had long since defeated his adversary at the tender age of seventeen.   
  
The melee had taken place a week before he was to graduate from his school of witchcraft and wizardry. Sleeping peacefully for the first time in months in his dorm room, he awoke to find a figure standing over him; the shiny knife in the stranger's hand was made visible by the cascading glow of the moon that reflected on the sharp blade. But before he had time to react, several men dressed in robes surrounded and began pummeling him with their fists. The school was then overtaken by these hooded men, who forced everyone - except the students of Slytherin House - into the Great Hall.  
  
It was in the Hall that the Dark Lord finally made his presence known. He walked amongst the scared students, while he made a speech about his power, warning that death would come to all those who were not with him. But unfortunately, most of his speech was drowned out by the loud whimpering of Dennis Creevey, whom he immediately grabbed by the neck and threw against the floor. Seeing his brother's unmoving body, Colin charged the hooded man. But he too was dealt the same punishment and inevitable end as his sibling. Those two senseless murders precipitated the long confrontation between Harry and the Dark Lord.  
  
The ensuing battle was a violent one that left many dead, including his former headmaster and grounds keeper. But he had fought valiantly to kill Lord Voldemort, who had haunted him since the age of eleven. Their fight was long and arduous; both men had great determination and will, their skills and expertise so perfectly matched. But the boy had much more desire to rid the world of the demon/man who had taken the lives of his parents when he was a mere babe. Thoughts of his parents' deaths and those of his classmates and beloved teachers had helped Harry deliver the final blow to his adversary, as he stuck that sword deep in his heart.   
  
Upon Voldemort's death, many of his supporters were either killed by Hit Wizards or fled to other countries of the world, vowing that they would somehow seek their revenge on Harry.   
  
Fearing another attack, Harry was quickly whisked away by Ministry officials to his aunt and uncle's home. He was then forced to remain a prisoner in that house for nearly two weeks. He would often spend his days staring out the window, dreaming of the flat he had bought several months before. The living arrangements also grated Vernon and Petunia's nerves, as they were looking forward to seeing him finally leave their custody.   
  
Soon, Harry began to wish he could flee England, like so many of the Death Eaters. He had often hoped he could move far away to a place he was not known by admirers and enemies alike. He once considered moving across the pond to American, where the wizarding community in Salem was much smaller in size. To walk in the streets - not only those of Muggles, but also wizarding communities - and not be greeted by unwanted attention, or the glances that flittered to the scar on his forehead, would have been heaven for the normally introverted young man.  
  
But his dream of moving was put on hold once the Ministry of Magic got wind of his plans. Cornelius Fudge had even paid a visit to 4 Pivot Drive to stop him from departing. His Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, however, encouraged him to leave the country, as they did not want him to bring any danger to their little family.   
  
While Harry packed the few belongings he possessed, Fudge had placed his hand on his shoulder and uttered, "I really think you should reconsider your decision. If you leave, you will be all alone. You have no friends or relatives in the States. And if you go abroad, the wizarding community of Salem is too small and disorganized to assist you if the Death Eaters plan another attack."  
  
Although Fudge had tried to be sincere with his statement, Harry knew the man had ulterior motives for wanting him to stay: he was England's main tourist attraction for witches and wizards worldwide. In the end, Harry realized he had been too hasty in his decision to leave, and decided to stay. Plus, he could not abandon a certain man who depended on him to survive.  
  
Several weeks after the devastation that was caused to his school, which now lay in rubble - a memorial honoring the innocent people who lost their lives on that June day is to be built on the grounds - Harry finally moved into his flat, which was now bewitched with spells and curses that guarded him from further attacks. But the move was not one that filled him with joy, as he had hoped. The trauma of seeing those dead bodies on the ground and watching as the velvety blood flowed from their wounds, had stayed with him for months, causing him to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, his face and chest covered in sweat.  
  
But after a year and a half, those gruesome nightmares ceased to dominate his nights and were eventually replaced by images of the young lady he had long lost touch with. Although the images that now flooded his dreams were less scary, they were just as haunting and bittersweet. These dreams always began the same way: he and his former flame would be in their favorite abandoned classroom in Hogswarts, lying on the floor as they conducted their amorous activity. Guided by the glow of the moon, he would glide his fingers across her honeyed skin, while he looked deep into her brown eyes. However, he always awake before their kissing and fondling proceeded into something more.   
  
That night, he had the same dream, which caused him to get out of bed and venture around his flat until her face, thick brown locks and intoxicating perfume escaped his mind. He had finally fallen back to sleep in the wee hours of the morning.   
  
Let's venture through the large windows that dripped with droplets of rain from that morning's light drizzle and overlooked the glorious views of the lush Royal Hospital ground, past the white shutters, and up the winding staircase to the master bedroom where our young hero lay. Once a thin and frail boy who was short for his age, he had now grown to be six feet tall. Although his body was still lean, it was not the result of being cruelly undernourished by his aunt and uncle, but from years of playing Quidditch.  
  
The early morning light peaked in through the windows, washing the walls and the bed in a prism of silvery colors. Down in the bed, underneath the cotton duvets, the young man was stirring. He often slept with his head buried under the covers, with only his face poking out to allow him some air. The sheets were now crinkled, collecting in large piles about his half-naked body. The only parts that were visible was a tanned leg and his bare chest, which had some light sprinkling of dark curly hair.  
  
He slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the clock on his nightstand; it was eleven in the morning. He normally would have been awake for several hours, had it been a normal day. His days usually started at six in the morning; sometimes he and Author Weasley would be up at the crack of dawn in order to catch the suspects off guard when they intended to raid a house.   
  
Harry got out of bed and stretched in front of his large window, allowing the heat of the sun to spread along his bare chest. His footsteps feeling heavy as they hit the carpeted floor, he made his way to the shower.   
  
A towel loosely draped around his waist, he looked at himself in the mirror. That he no longer needed his glasses to see never failed to startle him, although it had already been a year. However, he still found himself bringing his fingers to his face every so often - a habit that had developed from wearing spectacles that always slipped down the bridge of his nose. The operation had taken place the previous year, when he had been desperate to alter his appearance. During this soul-searching time in his life, he had grown his black hair to his shoulders and gotten the Hebrew word for 'peace' tattooed on his back.   
  
He opened his medicine cabinet to get out his razors, when his gaze fell upon the young lady's toothbrush. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he had been finding her possessions tucked away in different drawers and cabinets around his home for quite some time now. Perhaps it gave her an excuse to come back to his place, he thought. Or maybe, it was her way of slowly indoctrinating herself as a permanent fixture in his life. He could have offered her space in his closet, so she didn't have to resort to hiding things in his house; but he didn't want to feel as thought they were living together. Plus, she wasn't officially his girlfriend.  
  
Harry examined his image in the mirror, as he rubbed his chin. His face was fuller than the past years, when his sunken cheeks and drawn eyes gave him a gaunt and haunting appearance; the emotional and psychological stress of those days had definitely taken a toll on him. A smile spread on his lips as he thought how he was becoming more and more manly like his godfather, whose dark features he so admired.   
  
After he had shaved the few tuffs of hair that were on his chin, he headed to his closet. The walk-in closet housed the attire for his two separate lives. One side held his Muggle clothes; while the other side held the wizard robes he wore to different Ministry award ceremonies, his old Gryffindor Quidditch gear and his broom. He reached in and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater. It was fortunate for him that he had grown up amongst Muggles, and knew how to dress like them. He often felt sorry for other wizards, whose attempts of blending into the Muggle world had horrendous results - like the wizard he had seen outside Marks and Spencer's wearing ballet slippers and thigh high knee socks.   
  
He draped his coat over his arm and went downstairs to the kitchen. He could have made himself something to eat, as he was a proficient cook - thanks to the task of having to prepare all the meals at his aunt and uncle's home. He remembered frying up some sausages once for Dudley's breakfast - he, of course couldn't eat any, even though there were six in the pan - when he accidentally dropped them on the floor, watching in horror as several of them rolled underneath the fridge. Luckily for him, his aunt and uncle did not witness this discretion, as they were too busy fussing over their lummox of a son. Without much hesitation - well he hesitated for a mere moment - Harry scooped up the sausages and continued frying them as though nothing had happened.   
  
Knowing that he would be getting a good meal at his friend's house, Harry made himself a cup of tea. As he took sips of his syrupy concoction, he heard a faint tapping noise behind him. Turning around, his eyes landed on his beloved owl Hedwig. He opened the window and watched as she flew to the breakfast table, and placed the letter she carried in her claws onto the tabletop. It had been a long time since he'd seen her, as she now belonged to his godfather. He placed his hand on top of her head, smoothing back her ruffled feathers. He would have given her some owl treats, but she ate his last bag on her previous visit. Treat or no treat, she seemed happy to see him again, as she hopped around on his table, instead of immediately flying away to her new master's home in Notting Hill.   
  
Harry glanced down and read the note Sirius had written him. It appeared as though he was to have dinner at his godfather's home that upcoming weekend. After a few sips of the warm tea, Harry jotted down his acceptance to the dinner invitation and sent Hedwig on her way.   
  
At noon, he finally headed down to his friend's home for a much-deserved meal. But as he walked down the narrow steps of the building to the first floor, the elderly woman who lived on the floor just below his accosted him. He of course said hello to her and greeted her with a warm smile, before continuing on his way. When he reached the building's front doors, Harry shook his head; it was a rare moment indeed when she did not try to fix him on a date with her overly chatty daughter. She must have assumed he was lonely, he thought, since very few guests were ever seen venturing to and from his house - and he was certain she kept count of the visitors he had since he moved into the building.   
  
But Mrs. Whistlethorpe wasn't the only person who was overly curious about his private affairs; the other occupants had often wondered how a man so young could afford such an extravagant flat. But they later assumed he must have been the son of a wealthy investment broker or a real estate mogul.   
  
Harry walked down the street with his head hung low, trying with some conviction to avoid the large puddles on his way. He was in the process of turning the corner when a man stepped in front of him. He and the older gentleman looked at each other. Harry's heart throbbed as the man's eyes scrutinized every feature on his face. The young man's eyes then darted to the right and left in search of somewhere to hide. But he could not move, as his feet stayed planted where they were. He watched the short man approached him, until he was standing before him.  
  
Harry knew what the man was immediately; there was something off kilter about his attire that gave him away as being a wizard. Besides his black trousers and trench coat, the man had a bathing cap on his head and pink bunny slippers.   
  
He approached Harry and took his hand. He stroked the young man's skin with the utmost gentility before bringing that hand to his lips. "Words alone," he muttered in a raspy voice, "cannot convey the kind of gratitude that we owe to you, Mr. Potter."  
  
After the other wizard had eventually waddled away with tears in his eyes, Harry continued on his way to his friends' house.   
  
He walked the two blocks down to Justin's townhouse on Mayfield Road. The former Hufflepuff lived with his parents; he was still unable to afford his own place as he only earned an entry-level salary from his job as office clerk in the Ministry's Recreational department - well, that was what he told people who questioned why he didn't have his own place. Harry was the only one of his graduation class whose salary was compatible with that of a supervisor.   
  
He climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. After a flurry of raised voices and footsteps, the door flew open. "Hello dear," said Justin's mother. Her hands were raised to her ear as she fumbled with her earrings. "Come in, come in." She placed a hand on his back, and ushered him into the house.   
  
"Justin," she bellowed out, causing Harry to jump back, "Harry's here."   
  
Harry stood in the middle of the entryway, watching as Justin's mother ran here and there, grabbing her purse and keys.   
  
"I wish I had more time to chat with you," she exclaimed, " but I don't." She rushed to the closet and took out a light jacket. "I have to go to the store. Apparently one our shipments didn't show up and now there's mayhem." She quickly patted him on the head, before heading out the door.   
  
Justin's family owned a whole food store, which sold everything from soy donuts to aromatherapy, and it was his mother's job to handle the inventory. Harry had gone to Healthy Living on several occasions with his godfather, who had suddenly developed a liking to organic foods.   
  
Harry made his way down the living room, where he found the other man relaxing in an oversized seat in front of the television. He and Justin became an inseparable duo after they discover they lived in the same neighborhood. Additionally, that the other man was Muggle born allotted Harry the opportunity to chat with someone about television programs and football – he didn't follow the sport, but if he did – and not have them stare back at him with a confused look on their face.   
  
Although he was now a frequent guest at Justin's house, Harry often hated inviting the other man to his flat. Justin would usually spend most of his time marveling at Harry's possessions, and complaining about how poor he was. But Justin was not as impoverished as he made himself out to be; he clearly had enough money to treat himself to high tech gadgets and a new car. Harry assumed he lived with his parents because he enjoyed the creature comforts of home.   
  
Harry took off his coat and sat in his usual spot on the sofa.   
  
"The food just got here," said Justin. He took the containers of takeaway from the bag on the coffee table and handed one to Harry. He opened his own container and sighed as the smell of spices and meat hit his nostrils. Since his mother was a devout vegan, Justin and his father had to suffer through eating tofu this and that. So he genuinely enjoyed days when he could indulge his taste buds.   
  
Harry barely paid attention to the images that flashed before him on the television screen, as he sank into his meal of kebabs. But the delight that was occurring in his mouth was not enough to keep him from finally gazing up at the half naked women that flashed before the screen. He then glanced at Justin, whose eyes were glazed over and completely focused on young women before him - so much so, that he spilled much of his food in his lap.  
  
"Isn't this show great," asked Justin, his mouth full of food.   
  
Harry only smiled and glanced away; he wasn't particularly fond of the teen soap opera. He gazed out the window, watching the passersby, when he noticed Justin staring at him.   
  
"What did you do last night?" asked Justin.   
  
Harry swallowed the piece of food he had been chewing on and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Nothing much. I just stayed in."  
  
"Did you have any company? Because when I called, you sounded a little out of breath." Justin then leaned forward in his chair. A small cheeky smile now formed in the corner of his lips. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."  
  
Harry lowered his head when he felt his face grow warm. He looked away for several moments, but it was hard to shake the other boy's piercing gaze. The other man was always asking him such questions; he always assumed Harry lived an eventful life. "I wasn't with anyone," he finally said. "And I wasn't out of breath."  
  
Justin stared at him for a while longer. "If you say so." He picked up his container and continued to watch television once more, all the while gazing at Harry every now and then from the corner of his eyes.   
  
After their meal and the show, the two men spent nearly two hours talking. Well, Justin did most of the talking, while Harry sat back in his seat and looking sympathetic, as the other man told him his problems - which varied from losing his hair from the depression medicine he was taking to his failures in getting the young lady who worked at the local pub to date him. Harry didn't mind listening to the other man's problems; anything that took the focus away from him and what he did in his personal life was fine with him.   
  
After Justin had finally stopped talking, Harry was ready to make his way back home. But as he walked to the door, Justin placed his arm around his shoulder. "Are you coming to the ceremony?" the other man asked. "Fudge said he would like all the survivors to be there. I don't know if I'll go, but my mum said I should."   
  
Harry glanced away just then and squeezed his eyes. He had gotten numerous of owls from the Ministry asking him to be present at the former Hogwarts grounds for the upcoming event. He was to receive an award from Fudge for his show of bravery and courage. But the thought of accepting anything from the Minister of Magic made him cringe. "I haven't decided yet," he answered. In actuality, he would have liked to attend, if only to see his former classmates, whom he had lost touch with as they all scattered to the winds in pursuit of their professions. But that Fudge would also be present lessened Harry's desire to attend.   
  
The bitterness between the two men started shortly after Voldemort's death, when Harry pleaded with the Ministry to remove all charges of murder from his godfather's records. He assumed the task would not be difficult, since Pettigrew had confessed to his sins before his death and Lupin had provided additional evidence clearing Sirius' name. But all the evidence was met with deaf ears, as Fudge was unwilling to believe the truth. He regarded Pettigrew's confession as nonsense and thought Lupin had fabricated his story to help out his school friend. But seeing that Harry was angry with his refusal to see Sirius as anything but a criminal, Fudge compromised with the young man: his Hit Wizards would not chase Sirius, as long as the man stayed out of the wizarding community.  
  
He and Justin exchanged a glance. Harry could tell from the expression in his eyes that Justin was thinking of that same horrible night, which had caused the former Hufflepuff to go to therapy two times a week. Then, they both looked away. There was now an uneasy silence between them, until Justin cleared his throat and said in a rather chirper voice, "Don't forget about tonight. You and I will have a great time."  
  
Harry shook his head. "I don't know about that. I'm feeling a little tired."  
  
Justin placed his hand on Harry's back as he escorted him to the door. "Oh come on. We don't have work tomorrow. A night out at a club will do us both a bit of good. Plus, you don't do much except work. Don't you have any fun?"  
  
A weak smile curled onto the corner of Harry's lips, before he glanced away. He had definitely had his share of fun during the fall of 1998. Justin was not around to witness the debacle, as he was away in Northern England, "visiting relatives." But Harry knew his friend had checked himself into a psychiatric hospital in Manchester in order to deal with his trauma. Harry kept mum about his past late night excursions in London's Muggle clubs and allowed Justin to convince him to join him that night.  
~*~*~ ~*~*~  
As Harry climbed the stairs to his flat, he could feel the old woman peaking at him through her peephole. He walked into the flat and threw himself on the sofa, as he was unable to believe he hat agreed to go out with Justin that night. If only the other man knew the kind of trouble he had been through in the past, thought Harry.  
  
Every thing had occurred the first few months after he moved out of the rickety house on Pivet Drive. That time should have filled him with joy, as he had finally received his independence; but his life seemed to spiral out of control. Instead of inviting his friends around for a house warming, he found himself hiding in his flat and refusing to talk to anyone. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Sirius always came around to see how he was coping; but he always told them he was fine. "It's nothing I haven't faced before," Harry told them on the occasions they would visit. But deep inside, he was overwhelmed by a strong sense of worthlessness, and nothing seemed to keep him from constantly crying. To him, his entire life appeared to be a crash course in hardships.   
  
In search of a diversion from his troubles, he began to explore what the nightlife could offer. Although those were dark times he wished not to repeat, he now realized it was something he needed to experience. He was a young man who had seen and experienced terrible things no one should ever face in their lifetime, and thus needed a release. Unfortunately, that release came in the form of one night stands.  
  
The acts always started in his living room, where he and the woman would lay on his couch, and explore the delights of the other's mouth. Harry never did hear what those girls moaned in his ear nor paid attention to the pleasure he was giving them as his naked body glided on top of theirs; he always remained focused on reaching his goal. When he finally did reach that inevitable end, the pain and bad memories would be momentarily forgotten, as his body tensed and became enveloped in pleasure. However, that joyous feeling would never last. And afterwards, his suffering would come back threefold - coupled by the guilt he felt for having used a girl for her body. But the one-night stands were quickly replaced by alcohol, which brought about his euphoria even quicker. He would then spend much of his time passed out on his bed in a drunken stupor.   
  
People at the Ministry began to realize there was a something wrong with him when he wouldn't show up for work for days at a time. Those close to him knew he was still dealing with the emotional trauma of the attack, but others – like those who envied his large salary – thought he was acting up and being a brat because of his celebrity. Even Sirius noticed a change in Harry's demeanor when he stopped replying to his owls. He was taken aback when he saw the way Harry had allowed himself to determinate; the young man's emaciated appearance reminded Sirius of himself when he was hiding in caves and living off of scraps.   
  
Harry had resisted his godfather's help, and even balked when the other man suggested he see a counselor. In his mind, Harry assumed he could cope with things on his own; he's had to rely on himself ever since he was a small child and was left to tend to his own needs by his aunt and uncle. But Sirius was just as stubborn as he and continually badgered Harry – plus, he had the help of Molly Weasley, who was always good a nagging – until he relented.   
  
They all thought it best that Harry use the services of a Muggle therapist - a wizard professional surely would have gone to the Daily Prophet with personal tidbits about the young man. And for nearly a year, Harry utilized the services of a therapist on Bond Street, revealing all about his life - he of course kept certain aspects of the wizarding world to himself.   
  
Although he tried hard to convince his godfather that he did not have a fondness for alcohol, Harry was still persuaded to take classes on alcoholism.   
  
An outsider would have blamed Harry's breakdown solely on his final battle with Voldemort; but the young man had been crippled with a broken heart long before the melee ever took place. Months before, he had been involved in a love triangle with Hermione and Ron that later shattered their friendship with one another. In the end, they all ended up miserably. He and Hermione could have continued their passionate relationship, but found themselves avoiding the other in the halls. He would always take refuge in a dark corner whenever he saw her walking his way. He would then eye her every movement from his secret hiding place. Regardless of the hurt she had caused him, he never lost his desire to be close to her, and had to stop himself from grabbing her arm whenever she walked past him.   
  
It was not just a need to caress and make love to her that he craved; he also yearned for her companionship. When he finally got marks in Potions for his essay, desperately wanted to share his good news with her; being the academic wiz that she was, Hermione would have appreciated his new achievement. But he never did find the courage to approach her.   
  
Speaking to Ron was out of the question; he knew the volatile redhead would have thought he was showing off. Additionally, the way Ron always stared at him told Harry to keep his distance. While Hermione often roamed the halls with a sad expression on her face that made Harry feel sorry for her, Ron often greeted his presence with a scowl and narrowed eyes. Ron had also switched beds with Neville, so he and Harry didn't have to sleep next to one another.   
  
Harry had always hoped the three of then could rekindle their friendship, but that was not to be. And the battle did nothing to bring them together, as they had all gone their separate ways afterwards.  
  
Harry stretched out on the sofa, as he wondered what Hermione could be doing at that moment. The last he heard, she had moved to Paris. He of course knew what Ron had been doing for the past two years; the redhead's career as a Cannon had been well chronicled in the Daily Prophet. He had gone to one of the Cannons' games to see his friend in action, and had even cheered along with the rest of the Weasley family when Ron scored. However, he refused to go back to the dressing room to meet his former friend, despite Molly Weasley's pleas. Although they've had plenty of opportunities for the two men to meet in the past - especially since Harry was now working alongside his father and often went to their family home - it was been mutually decided that they would keep their distance from one another.   
~*~*~ ~*~*~  
"So," said Justin, "you like the place?" He and Harry had been standing at the bar for nearly an hour, watching the other people at the club.   
  
"This place is nice," Harry finally answered, as he looked out into the crowd of young men and women dancing with one another. Several women had asked him to dance, but he declined, causing Justin to elbow him in the side and flash him an annoyed look.   
  
He was in the middle of taking another sip of his soda, when Justin said, "Harry, look at that girl."  
  
Harry gazed in the direction the other man was pointing. In the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by a throng of men, was a woman dressed all in black. She was dancing in tune to the music, her body moving to the beat, as her long blonde hair swayed back and forth.   
  
"Turn around, so I can get a good look at you," said Justin under his breathe.   
  
Harry too wanted to look at this woman.   
  
She eventually turned around and revealed her face to the two young men. Justin caught her gaze, and then winked at her. The girl stopped dancing momentarily and looked him up and down, her scrutinizing eyes traveling slowly along the length of his body. Her lips then curled into a grimace, as a look of disgust spread on her gentle features. The girl turned the other way and continued dancing once more.   
  
Justin slowly faced the bar and lowered his head.   
  
"I'll buy you another drink," said Harry, as he patted his friend on the back in a reassuring manner. The people at those clubs could be quite rude with their rebuffs, thought Harry; and Justin had certainly suffered from many stings that night from several young ladies.   
  
After an hour, Harry walked about the place in search of a quiet corner where he could sit down. He had left Justin at the bar, where he was solely preoccupied with a certain brunette who was surprisingly showing some interest in him. Harry had now settled himself on a large plush sofa in the back of the room, and leaned into the cushy folds of the fabric. His eyes then wondered about the smoky room, before they landed on the people in the next sofa, who were doing everything but having sex in front of him. He raised his head and glanced up at the VIP section of the club on the second floor. The small section was filled with red leather furniture and occupied by young men and women who had bored expressions on their faces.   
  
He was about to turn away, when a young lady leaning against the railing caught his eye. He had noticed her watching him over the course of that hour, but had never paid much attention to her gaze; he assumed she was another one of the numerous girls who was trying to flirt with him. Most of the young woman's body and face was obscured by the shadow of one of the club's pillars, but her eyes were clearly visible. He normally would have looked away just then, but something in her stare prevented him from doing so.   
  
He brought his hand to his chest, his fingers splaying against his shirt, as he thought he recognized her brown eyes. There was something oddly familiar about the way she observed him; it reminded him so much of a certain young lady's gaze. He leaned forward and squinted to get a better view of her, but the area she was standing in was too dark and smoky. The eye contact continued for several more moments, as both parties appeared to be in a trance. His heart began to pound and he heard himself call out, "Hermione." The young woman's eyes widened and she glanced away, before disappearing into the darkness.  
  
Harry bolted from his seat. He weaved through the crowd, often bumping into people and having to even push others out of his way. His desire to make it to the staircase was such that he forgone apologizing to those he had knocked over. He raced up the staircase to the roped off area, which was guarded by a large, muscular man.   
  
"I'm sorry Sir," said the bouncer, as he glared down at Harry, "but this is a private party."  
  
Harry paid no heed to the man's words - nor his incredible size - and glanced about the room. His eyes flittered left to right, in search of the elusive young woman. "Hermione," he yelled when he spotted a dark haired woman standing in the corner, her back turned towards him.   
  
Harry's heart pounded as the young woman slowly turned around. His stomach was now flustered with butterflies as he thought of the prospect of seeing her once again. Two years of dreaming and hoping were finally going to get realized, as they would see one another again. He held his breath, when she flipped her long wavy hair out of her face.   
  
Alas, his heart sank, when he realized it wasn't her. The woman glanced at him through uninterested eyes, as a cigarette dangled from her lips. His hopes finally shattered, Harry retreated back to his seat. He remained in the chair with his eyes closed for longer than he could calculate, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.   
  
"Let's leave," said Justin. He glanced over his shoulder at the brunette he had been talking to several minutes before. "I haven't had much luck in this place." He looked down at Harry, and jealously eyed the pieces of paper that some of the more brazen girls had stuffed into his trouser pocket - despite the green-eyed young man saying he wasn't interested. "It seems as though you were popular with the girls tonight. If you got too many numbers, I will be more than happy to take some of them off your hands--"  
  
"Justin, do you know who those people are at the VIP section?"  
  
Justin glanced up at the second floor. "I don't know. But from the jaded looks on their faces, they seem rich. A lot of young models and children of rock stars hang out here. Did one of them catch your eye?"  
  
Harry continued to look up at the second floor. His eyes flittered from girl to girl - causing a young blonde to smile his way - but he could not find the girl who had mesmerized him. Something in his heart told him it was her. But he quickly shook his head, as he was convinced he was going mad. "It's nothing," he finally said. 


	2. A Night With His Foes

Chapter 2:  A Night With His Foes  

Harry could still hear the loud bass of the music thumping in his ears, even long after the song had ended. He didn't know what brought him back to that club night after night - actually he did know. He had been filled with many questions those days after he and Justin had first ventured there. His mind had been plagued with many hopes of seeing Hermione again, ever since he caught her gazing down at him from the second floor.

He reached into his pocket and took out three pounds for his lemonade and handed it to the bartender. The other man gave him a weird look, before taking the money and walking back to the cash register. Harry knew the man thought he was odd; most people who ventured to the establishment often danced or mingled, while he would only stand at the bar, sipping on his drink. He could have at least attempted to join the crowd out on the dance floor - he had certainly gotten enough offers from several young ladies - but he preferred his location. 

He gazed up at the empty second floor. There had been a birthday party in the VIP section the night before; but now, its leather chairs remained unoccupied. His eyes then darted around the room, in search of any dark haired young ladies. He had seen several girls with wavy brown hair, one of whom he even followed to the ladies' room, but none of them were Hermione. He took a sip of his lemonade and placed the glass on the bar counter, when he felt someone brush up against him. He turned his head to the left and found himself staring at a familiar young man.

Although the other man's long blond hair obscured his face, Harry immediately recognized him. He froze in place when he heard the man order a glass of wine. The blond's voice had gotten slightly deeper, but it still possessed the spite and arrogance that were there when they both attended Hogwarts.

Although Harry had experienced a lot of grief from the other man during their teenage years - which would have caused any other hot blooded man to punch him on the spot or walk to the other end of the room to avoid talking to him - he found himself unable to draw his gaze from him. 

Feelings of hostility that normally would have been induced by the man's presence was not there, as Harry's feelings towards him had dramatically changed during their last night at Hogwarts

Upon the Creevey brothers' tragic deaths, Harry had charged Voldemort. But he found himself overtaken by the man's group of Death Eaters. His hands were then bound and he was dragged into the school's courtyard, where the Dark Lord was to finally dispose of him. But while the Dark Lord had his back turned for a moment, Harry could feel someone cutting the ropes that were tightly wrapped around his wrists. The person behind him never said a word, as his knife set his hands free. But upon glancing over his shoulder before the other person crept away into the darkness, Harry caught a glimpse of the young man's silvery hair and gray eyes. 

Harry had spent weeks afterwards wondering why Draco even bothered to help him.  He assumed that one night of generosity would leave him forever indebted to Draco; but no requests had surface from the other man for all of those years. 

Harry continued to stare at the other man, who was only a few feet away from him. His eyes traveled up and down the length of Draco's body, taking in every detail. Even though every other male in the club was dressed casually in jeans, Draco was dressed in a black suit. He wore his hair in the same manner as he did while in school, but it had now grown almost to his shoulders. Although he was well groomed, he looked out of place amongst the mostly middleclass clientele. 

It surprised Harry that a man of Draco's status and upbringing was not at ritzy Stringfellows, which was always populated by rich businessmen and their trophy significant others. Harry had been to the club on several occasions with his friends Serge and Francois, but he always felt out of place there.  Harry brought his hand to his head and smoothed back his hair; although he had made an effort to dress up just in case he ran into Hermione, his appearance was not nearly as impeccable as Draco's.

Although it had been many years since they'd seen one another, Harry was very knowledgeable about what Draco did for employment, as he was often featured in the Business Section of much of the Muggle newspapers. 

After the downfall of the Death Eaters, the Malfoy family's power and riches had greatly diminished. The Ministry had captured Lucius, who was the only Death Eater not killed on the spot, in hopes that he would provide information on the whereabouts of other Voldemort supporters. Lucius, of course, had not cooperated. His trial had cost the family a great deal of money; it was said that Narcissa had to sell much of Malfoy Manor's furnishings to pay for their lawyer. But Lucius never got any real justice, as he escaped from the Ministry's jail a week before he was to be sentenced to Azkaban. 

Draco and his mother were thus left to fend for themselves and without the help of their former business associates - who were eager to disassociate themselves from any Death Eaters, lest they wanted to be interrogated by Ministry officials. 

With the help of his enormous trust fund, the young man was able to strive and eventually emerged several months later in the Muggle world as a real estate mogul. In the span of two years, Draco had gained much success as the owner of several high-class hotels around the city. Harry shook his head at the thought that Draco now had to rely on people his family greatly detested to make his money.  But his mother surely did not have trouble accepting tainted currency, as it kept her in the lifestyle in which she was accustomed.  The last time Harry saw Mrs. Malfoy, she was dressed in her usual fur coat.  

However, no amount of money could cushion the Malfoys' lives; mother and son were under constant watch from the Ministry.  Harry's last encounter with Narcissa had actually occurred in the Ministry, when she attended a bi-monthly meeting with Mr. Fudge.  The meetings were developed so Narcissa could provide the Ministry with any information about Death Eater plans she might have heard.  Although they never gained any information from the reluctant woman, the meetings' chief purpose was to humiliate her and serve as an annoying reminder to all those who might have thoughts of going into the Dark Arts. 

And with the help of Muggle authorities, the Ministry was able to keep close watch of Draco's money flow.  They wanted to ensure that none of his money was going to support Death Eater activities.  

Draco leaned against the bar and took a sip of his drink. He made a face the moment the alcohol touched his lips. He forcefully slammed the glass onto the counter, almost breaking it in the process. "Cheap wine," he muttered under his breath. He then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He fumbled around his coat for several more moments in search of a lighter. 

Harry glanced down at the bar and stared at the book of matches that lay near his fingers. He hesitated for a long while, before he grabbed them and reached out his hand to the other man. 

Draco slowly turned his head and eyed the hand that was now hovering only inches away from his face. His gaze slowly traveled along Harry's arm, until they finally made eye contact. His face stayed placid, as he glanced at Harry through expressionless eyes. He remained silent for several minutes as he observed the man offering him the matches. But then a look of disgust spread on his fair features as he looked away. 

Harry brought his arm back to his side. He felt foolish with his actions; deep down, he knew Draco would never accept anything from him. He just wished he had walked away, instead of embarrassing himself. He didn't know what propelled him to make such an offering, as he and Draco had never been cordial to one another. He tossed the matches onto the counter and moved to the other end of the bar. 

Draco reached into his inner pocket and finally found his elusive silver plated lighter.  Harry watched him light his cigarette and bring it to his lips.  This act normally would have filled him with disgust, as he looked down on the practice, but the artful way Draco took puffs from the corner of his mouth fascinated him. 

A young lady soon approached Draco.  She was the same woman Harry and Justin had seen on their first night to the club. She was a permanent fixture at the establishment, as he had seen her there nearly every night since, usually surrounded by a herd of men.  But she was deserving of the attention, Harry thought, as she was an attractive young woman.

The woman engaged in some light banter with the bartender, before turning her attention to Draco.  "I don't think I've ever seen you around here before," she said.  

Draco did not respond, nor did he acknowledge that she had even spoken. 

She lifted her hand and placed it on the collar of his jacket.  "You really stand out from the rest of the riff raff that come--"

"Don't touch me," Draco finally said in a low voice as the cigarette dangled from his lips.  

But the woman kept her hand steady on his jacket, until Draco forcefully pushed her fingers away.  He then continued to stare straight ahead of him.  The woman didn't leave immediately, and spent several minutes staring at him; she was probably shocked that a man had actually rejected her, Harry thought. But even she had her pride and eventually walked away, all the while throwing him glances over her shoulder.  

A look of disdain formed on Draco's face as he watched her leave.  He then mumbled something under his breath.  Harry could have sworn the blond had uttered the same offensive word that had enraged Ron in the past, and often reduced Hermione to tears. 

Harry clasped his hands together and lowered his head.  While getting over his humiliation, he caught the conversation of two men sitting several feet away.  He recognized the older man as Simon McCloud, the owner of the club and other such establishments throughout London. He was also dressed in a suit and talking in a hushed voice to a young man. 

"I don't feel comfortable with you selling the club to him," said the young man.  "Let's wait out for another offer."

Mr. McCloud pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the beads of sweat off his brow.  "What other offers? No one else has been calling about buying this place.  And God knows we can't afford the upkeep.  And Mr. Malfoy has lots of money. Plus, he's offering us a good deal."

"But I don't trust him. I've done some background checks on him, and no one can give me any information on what he was doing prior to 1998. There's nothing on his schooling or even his family."

"So?"

The young man placed his hand on Mr. McCloud's shoulder. "I have a very bad feeling about him.  I think he might be involved in something illegal." He leaned towards the other man's ear and lowered his voice.  "The other day, some guys came over here asking about him.  They seemed particularly interested in his method of payment to us.  So, I'm thinking, this guy must be involved in some criminal activity."

The elderly man pulled away and started to laugh.  "Don't be ridiculous."

"But people just don't show up out of nowhere with large sums of money. Plus, nobody knows a single thing about him. If he's involved in illegal activity, he might drags us into it."

"David, will you please calm down?  He's just some kid whose parents probably have a lot of connections. His other businesses seem to be legit, so I'm going to trust him."

After bickering back and forth with one another for several more minutes, both men got up from their seats and walked towards Draco.  Mr. McCloud placed his arm around him and led him to a back room.

Harry stayed in club for a few more minutes, before leaving. He walked by the long line of people who were still waiting to enter the club, and ventured down a dark alleyway.  He waited until the man and woman snogging against the brick wall - who flashed him a frustrated look, as he had interrupted their tryst - left, before he apparated home. 

He immediately went to his bathroom to take a shower. He actually had other plans that night, and wanted to rid himself of the cigarette smoke that had permeated the club and had embedded itself in his clothes and hair. He was to have dinner that night with the Weasley clan. He, in fact, had been invited to the house several times that week, but had turned down the offers because he knew Ron would be present. But now, the other man was away with his team playing the Arrows. 

The rest of the clan never did understand why he and Ron never socialized with one another anymore. At first, they assumed their professional lives had taken up much of their free time; but after many social events where he and Ron would stand at opposite ends of the room, Harry assumed they all knew something was not right between them.

As he finished getting dressed, he considered gathering some of Ginny's possessions and bringing them over to her house. But he knew the act would embarrass the young lady. He ventured to his refrigerator to get the bouquet of flowers and apparated to The Burrow. 

While he stood at the door, Harry could hear the laughter wafting from inside the house. He didn't need to knock, as the door flew open immediately. He was then greeted with a hug from Molly, as she ushered him inside the house. The place looked surprisingly different from when he last visited, as there was more space. He assumed they added another section to the living room to fit their extended family, which included him. 

In the living room sat the usual family members, plus their significant others. Charlie sat on the large sofa with his wife Yelena.  Bill sat cross-legged on the floor.  He was still very much a bachelor - much to his mother's chagrin. Percy was in the corner alone. Penelope normally would have accompanied him, but that relationship had fizzled the year before; the young man had put his work at the Ministry above romance. Although he always said he was content and found much peace with being on his own - "Why do I need love, when my work is just as fulfilling?" he was always heard saying - one could tell by his downcast eyes that something was missing in his life. 

And then there were the twins. Fred had developed a serious relationship with a young Muggle several months before. The romance built somewhat of a barrier between him and his brother; for the first time in their lives, they did not live together, as Fred was now sharing a flat with Katherine.  And now the couple sat in a small chair, whispering to one another and exchanging looks, as George watched. 

Ginny was in he kitchen helping her mother with the food.  After the destruction of Hogwarts, her family had considered sending her to Beauxbatons to finish her schooling.   But the money would have been tight, as the French school's tuition was much higher, especially for students who were not French residents.  The twins and Ron had offered to fork up the money for their sister, but Molly and Authur had been adamant about not accepting it; they wanted their children to use their hard earned cash on themselves. 

But fortunately for them, Minerva McGonagall started up a school, The Dumbledore Academy, for all former Hogwarts students.  Ginny had graduated in 1999 and now worked in the Ministry's day care center.  Everyday at noon, she would venture to the fifth floor of the building to have lunch with her father. But Harry noticed from the very beginning that she often spent more time in his office than in her father's.  

"Mother, I think the casserole's ready," said Ginny. She walked to the dining room to set the table, when she caught a glimpse of Harry. 

Harry had seen her the moment he stepped into the house, but had purposely wandered into the living room to avoid talking to her. He looked down, as he assumed she would immediately approach him. But she stayed put in the dining room. They exchanged a glance for a moment, before she looked away. Harry was about to take a seat next to the melancholy Percy when he realized he was still holding the flowers in his hand. He ventured to the kitchen and stood in the entryway. "I have something for you," he said. 

Both Molly and Ginny turned around to stare at him. Ginny's eyes lit up in surprise when she saw the bouquet. But the smile on her lips quickly disappeared and turned sour when Harry handed the flowers to her mother. She turned her back to him once more, and continued with her activity. 

Harry dropped his head the moment he caught sight of Ginny's expression. The bouquet was only a gesture of gratitude to Molly for the support she had given him all those years, and was not meant to hurt Ginny in any way - so he said to himself.

The meal was a nosy affair, as everyone at the table seemed to be talking at once.  Ginny sat beside Harry at the table. During the course of thirty minutes, she had not uttered a word to him, nor glanced his way; he knew she was still fuming over the flowers.  He had considered buying her a bouquet as well, but he didn't want to lead her on or give the impression that there was more to their relationship.  

Harry was enjoying his roast beef and listening to the various conversations that were taking place at the table. He was especially straining to hear what the twins were talking about, as they whispered to one another - much to the annoyance of Fred's girlfriend, who was left out of the mix. Feeling sorry for her, Harry leaned over and tried to engage her in conversation.  "How long have you and Fred been dating?"

"We celebrated our eight month anniversary last week."  She turned her head and watched as her betrothed shared a laugh with his brother.  "He can be really attentive at times." She said this loud enough for everyone to hear; but the one person she hoped would catch her statement was too busy giggling with his brother. 

Harry turned his attention back to his food, when he felt her hand on his face.  "You have an eyelash on your cheek," she said.  

He moved away when her finger came surprisingly close to his eye.  She wrapped her fingers around his chin and redirected his gazed towards her. "I got it."   But she did not move away once she had completed her task and continued to stare at him.  "You have lovely eyes."

A nervous smile crinkled onto the corner of Harry's lips.  Over her shoulder, Harry could see Fred glance in his direction.  The twin then leaned forward and say, "Stop flirting with my girlfriend, you already have your own."

Harry lowered his head to hide his embarrassment, as some at the table began to laugh.  He soon felt Ginny's fingers wrap around his own.  From the corner of his eyes, he could see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiling as their gazes flittered from him to their daughter.  Harry normally would have pulled his hand away, as he wasn't one for public displays of affection - especially in front of the girl's family - but Ginny's touch was soothing.  So, he allowed her the luxury of touching his arm every so often and even placing her fingers on his thigh. 

Minutes later, everyone heard a rustling coming from the entryway. Before anyone could get out of their seats to investigate, the missing Weasley brother strolled into the room. 

"I hope there's room at the table for one more," said Ron.

Molly got up from her seat and fetched another plate from the cabinet. "I thought you had a game tonight."

"I did. But we finished early. We were only out there for several minutes before the seeker caught the snitch. And since I had nowhere else to go, I thought I'd join you guys for a meal." He ran his hands through his hair, which was still wet. He took a seat between Percy and Charlie, and reached over for slice of roast beef, when he spotted Harry sitting across from him. 

Neither one said a word, as their eyes stayed fixed on the another. That was the first time they had been in such close proximity. Harry looked away first, as the glare in Ron's eyes was too intense. He glanced down at his food and watched from the corner of his eye as Ron filled his plate with roast beef and potatoes, and began eating. But when Ron had his head turned while he chatted with Charlie, Harry took a good look at him. He noticed several small scars on the other man's jaw line from the hits he had received during his previous games.

"I hear," said Authur, "the seeker you guys have now is terrific."

Ron wiped his mouth. "Yeah. He's world-class material. I don't think we would have gotten this far without him. He's definitely going to win some kind of award when the season's through."

"Harry, it's too bad you don't play Quidditch anymore," said Yelena. "You were a very good seeker, I hear. I remember the Bombers tried to do everything to lure you to play for them. They even offered you the biggest contract in Quidditch history. You would have had a percentage of the whole club's revenue. Didn't the Cannons want you as well?"

Harry pushed his plate away and slowly nodded. 

"It's a shame you went to work for the Ministry--"

"What's wrong with working for the Ministry?" asked Percy.

Yelena took a sip of her drink.  "I never said there was anything wrong with it per se.  It's just that he and Ron would have been on the same team."

Ron banged his fork against his plate, as his sister in law's statement brought back bitter memories of when he attended tryouts for various Quidditch clubs in the league.  It was a known fact that Harry would have set the record for the enormous salary the Luxembourg squad was offering him - it was four times that of the next highest paid player, Krum - but it was little known knowledge that the Cannons would only consider adding Ron to their roster if he convinced his friend to come on board.   

Unwilling to talk to Harry, and a little insulted by the request, Ron spent the beginnings of his career playing in the Quidditch Minor League.  It was only when one of its players suffered a bludger to the head that the Cannons called him onto the team.  Although the redhead was now a fairly important player on the team, and was paid a salary that enabled him to purchase a lovely house in Devon, it still irked him that he could never escape the shadow of his more famous friend.   

Everyone at the table glanced at the two men sitting across from one another.  They all expected one of them to make a comment of, "Yeah, it would have been great to be on the same team," but they both remained quiet.  But while Harry tried to look preoccupied in his food by swirling his mashed potatoes around on his plate, Ron opted for a defiant stance as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms tightly against his chest.  

The silence continued for several more minutes as all eyes darted from Harry to Ron, in attempts to discover what was happening between them.  Charlie caught the tense way Ron's brows were creased, and the grimace that was spreading on Harry's face.  Seeing that his wife was going to say something else, he lightly touched her arm. "Honey," he said, "I think Harry is quite happy with his job at the Ministry and doesn't want to think about the past."

Yelena glanced around the table, trying to figure out what she could have said wrong. Bill wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his body.

The table was quiet once more, only now populated by the occasional low hum of Fred whispering to his girlfriend.  But it was Molly who broke the silence when she got up to clear the dishes. "I saw Hermione the other day," she said in an excited voice.  "We bumped into one another at Diagon Alley."  

Harry, who was slouching in his chair, immediately sat up straight.  His heart then fluttered at the mention of the young woman.  The topic also piqued the interest of the young man sitting across from him, as his eyes widened.  The two men then looked at one another and held the other's gaze for a long time. 

As she grabbed Harry's plate, Molly tapped her daughter on the shoulder and she too began to clear the table.  "She was a little vague about what she was doing back here," continued Mrs. Weasley.  She and Ginny went into the kitchen and deposited the dishes in the sink.  But they later reappeared carrying a bowl each of sticky toffee pudding.  "She looks really lovely.  Why neither one of you ended up with her is beyond me."  Her hand lightly grazed Harry's neck when she walked by him.

Harry gripped the arm of his chair, as he and Ron continued their face off.  But Ron's stare suddenly switched to being more unpleasant.  Harry eventually looked away; but he could still feel his former friend's eyes burning into him.  That was the look Ron always gave him in the halls of Hogwarts.  Those brown eyes never ceased to make Harry feel guilty for apparently stealing Hermione away from him. 

Harry stayed with his head lowered for much longer and even ignored the bowl of pudding that was placed in front of him.  But after enduring Ron's unrelenting glare for some time - the other boy was clearly an expert at playing the victim - Harry got up from the table.

"Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, "are you leaving already?"

"Yes, I have a busy day tomorrow." He glanced over at Arthur, who was giving him a weary smile; they both knew there would be a mountain of paperwork waiting on their desks the next morning.  While he was leaving the dining room, he considered wishing Ron luck on the next night's game against the Falcons, the league's top team.  He decided against it when he caught the smug expression on the young man's face. 

He bid his farewell to everyone and wandered to the closet to get his jacket.  But while still standing by the door, Ginny slowly approached him.  

She leaned against the wall and watched him for a moment.  "It's still kinda early," she said.  "You don't have to leave right away, do you?"

"I have to start getting into the routine of going to bed early again."  He placed his hands into his jacket pocket and rocked back and forth.  He glanced her way; her eyes were still on him.  "Do you want to come over?" he finally asked.  "There's some of your things still at my house, and I thought you might want them back."

The crinkle on the corner of her lips slowly faded, but she agreed to go with him nonetheless  "I'll go tell my parents," she said.

Harry quickly grabbed her arm.  "I don't think there's any reason to inform them.  You'll only be gone a few minutes at the most."  Even though this was true, deep down Harry had another reason for not wanting her to say anything to her family about their excursion.  Although most of the Weasley clan was very supportive of him and Ginny seeing one another - Ron was ambiguous - Harry didn't want to publicize the fact that she had slept over his house on several occasions. 

Ginny simply nodded, although the disappointment was evident on her face.  She dearly wanted to make that announcement to her family, as some of them had begun to wonder about the state of their 'relationship,' since they were spending less time together.  She would have used that opportunity to reassure them, and herself, that she and Harry were truly an item.  

 **********

The flat was dark, except for the small glimmer of light from the hallway, which Harry always kept on.  And while he took off his shoes and jacket, Ginny wasted no time in collecting her possessions. Harry sat on the bed and watched her walk into his bathroom and place her toiletries into her purse.  

He then began to wonder why things were not more relaxed between them; their interactions had become a tug of war those past couple of months.  But he could clearly remember a time when things were far different.  During his seventh year, he had regarded her as a true friend.  And he never tried to avoid her in the school halls, like he did during work. 

They should have been living together by then, so said some of his co-workers.  But it's been difficult for him to push aside his past relationship with Hermione, especially since it was left unresolved.   

He lazily reached underneath his bed and pulled out the small wooden box that contained the letters and other trinkets Ginny had sent him over the years. He pushed the letters aside and glanced down at the bottom of the container.  His eyes widened as he stared at the small collection of hair, which was tied together with a piece of thread.  He'd forgotten he even had it.  He reached for it, when he heard Ginny coming out of the bathroom.  He quickly placed the contents back in the box and slid the container under his bed. 

"I think I got everything," she said.  "I'm sorry I inconvenienced you with my stuff."  

She didn't look at him while she talked and kept her voice steady.  But he knew there was much more underneath that cool exterior.  She flung her bag over her shoulder and began to head out of the room. 

"Why don't you stay the night?" he suggested.  "We can just go to work together.  And since you already have some extra clothes here--" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, as she was soon sitting by his side.  

"Are you sure about this?" she asked.  "I don't want you to think I'm trying to force myself on you."

"I'm fine with it."  

She stayed on the bed for several more minutes, running her fingers through his hair and bestowing him with a pleased smile.  But she eventually got up and headed for his closet.  She naturally grabbed his flannel nightshirt, which she had worn many times before.  

Harry sat up and watched her get undressed.  His eyes roamed up and down her body as she removed her shirt and jeans.  There was no doubt that she knew what he was doing, as she could clearly see him through the full-length mirror that was only a few feet away.  When it was time for him to get ready for bed, Harry went into the bathroom. 

The room was aglow with the flooding rays of the moonlight that cascaded through the window behind the bed when he and Ginny finally retired for the night. And just as usual, Ginny's hand reached for his chest, as her fingers traveled up and down his skin.  She then leaned forward and kissed him. 

"I've really missed you these past couple of days," she murmured against his lips, as her arms went around his shoulders. Although her happiness was clearly evident in her voice, some sadness could also be detected.  She had been very upset when he asked her to keep her distance from him during their extended holiday.  She had hoped they would spend that time together building the foundations for a strong relationship.  She even bought precautions for what she hoped would be their first night together.  

She placed a fluster of kisses along his cheek.  She was going to head for his mouth once more, but pulled back and glanced at him.  Her brown eyes caught the uninterested look on his face. 

"I just want to go to bed," he said.  He didn't wait for her to reply before he began to fluff his down pillow.  Facing away from her, he lay on his side.  He soon felt her warm fingers along his back; but she did not utter any words to accompany her touch.  Those series of light scrapes against his skin with her fingernails was how she indicated she was interested in much more than sleep that night.  But Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend he was sleeping. 

Ginny eventually gave up all hopes that he would turn around, and went to sleep.  

*************

While he lay in that bed with Ginny's arm draped over his chest, Harry's dream brought him back to that sunny day in April of 1998.  

The other boys in his dorm had gone to enjoy various activities around the castle that Saturday, allowing him and Hermione some time to themselves. Normally, he would have suggested they find another room in the castle to be alone, but that day was different. 

With the curtains pulled around them, he and Hermione spent much of their time lying on his bed.  He draped his arm around her bare waist and pulled her close for a kiss.  He could taste the sweat on her lips as his mouth met hers. They then spent several minutes staring up at the ceiling, letting their minds fill with tantalizing recollections of what had just happened.  Harry brought his hand to her head and buried his fingers in the gentle curls.  "Why don't you give me some of your hair," he finally said.  "Just a little to keep with me."  

She didn't hesitate to agree to the sentimental gesture.  And as she trimmed a small section of her hair for him, Harry allowed his to hand to explore her chest and glide over her excited breasts, which were still moist from his mouth. 

The dream caused Harry's eyes to snap open.  He glanced over at Ginny; she was sound asleep.  He closed his eyes shut, but could not get Hermione out of his mind.  He then spent thirty minutes looking out into his semi dark bedroom and wishing for sleep.  

Ginny rolled over in her sleep and wound up with her back turned to him.  Harry eyed her for a moment.  He then moved towards her until his chest was pressing against her back. His dream had ignited so many yearnings within him; his desire for bodily contact was now aroused.  He lifted his hand and allowed his fingers to slowly glide down the length of her arm.  His hand moved to her face, where he placed the lightest of caresses on her cheek and then along the outline of her full lips.  He raised his head to see if his touch had awoken her; she was still asleep.  He continued like this for several more minutes, until sleep finally found him.  He wrapped his arm around her body and closed his eyes.  

Ginny finally opened her eyes after she heard him softly snore into her ear.  A smile now spread on her lips, as she placed her hand on that strong arm that was around her body.  Being the recipient of his touches had been difficult for her; she had to fight back the urge to roll over and caress him in return.  But she knew he would have moved away the moment he saw that she was awake.  She closed her eyes and imagined that his fingers were still gliding along her body.  She drifted off to sleep with those same thoughts dancing in her head.


	3. Mr Putman's Newest Worker

Chapter 3: Mr. Putman's Newest Worker  
  
Harry leaned against the glass wall and lowered his head, as he tried his best to hide the discomfort that he knew was showing on his face. And just then, Ginny's lips made contact with the side of his face, as she whispered some incoherent word into his ear.  
  
He hated it when she did this. She should have known better, he mused; he had made it clear to her he didn't welcome such physical contact. But she did it anyways. Perhaps it was to impress the other co-workers, who were at the day care center to drop off their children, he thought. Regardless of her reason, Harry found himself trying to hide from the stares of the women standing across from him as Ginny continued to kiss the his cheek.  
  
Mrs. Delaney leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the woman standing next to her. They then pulled apart and stared at the couple, with pleased smiles on their faces. "Did you two arrive together?" asked Mrs. Delaney.  
  
Harry felt his heart begin to flutter the moment the question escaped the woman's lips. He immediately grabbed Ginny's hand, in attempts to keep her from talking. But the young woman was beside herself - with what he guessed was excitement from having spent the night at his flat - and began to talk before he could think of another way of keeping her quiet.  
  
"Yes," Ginny said with as much zeal as she could muster. "We came in together."  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Although her statement sounded innocent enough, as it didn't convey anything more than the two of them showing up to work at the same time, he knew it implied much more intimate details about their life. That they would 'come in together' implied that she must have stayed at his flat. And Harry knew that that is what the two women guessed had happened the night before because they both looked at one another again; but this time, with raised eyebrows on their heavily made up faces.  
  
Ginny noticed the expression on the women's faces. A smug smile now crept onto her lips. She glanced up at Harry for approval for what she had done. She hoped he would be proud of her decision to share that little tidbit about their personal life with others. But the stare that greeted her when her gaze met his was not one of happiness. She continued to stare at his furrowed brows and at the tinge of pink that was developing on the apples of his cheeks. And with that, Harry immediately let go of her hand and brought his arms to his chest.  
  
"We'll let you two youngsters get on with your morning," said Mrs. Delaney. She and her friend continued to whisper to one another as they made their way down the hall.  
  
Harry huffed loudly; he knew that within minutes, news of their night would be spread throughout the workplace. The environment at the Ministry was much like those of any other gossipy business. Being shut in together for eight hours of their day, it was hard for the workers to not become curious about one another's lives. And the lively and diverse characters in that building provided drama that rivaled the trashiest of soap operas.  
  
Ginny could not take her eyes from the young man in front of her, nor could she understand his attitude. She assumed his tenderness from the night before would continue onto that day, but she was wrong. She should have realized things would not be like she had hoped from his behavior that morning when they were getting dressed. Yes, he had made her breakfast, which she thought was a loving gesture, but he had spend the rest of the time barricaded in the bathroom as he got dressed and had only mumbled a few words to her before they headed off to work.  
  
But she always attributed this aloofness to him not being a morning person and needing time to awaken his senses. However, hours later, he was still being a bit distant with her. Nevertheless, she grabbed his hand and looked up at him with a cheery grin on her face. "We're still going to have lunch today, right?"  
  
Harry didn't answer her immediately and spent several moments rocking back and forth on his feet. He then brought his hand to his neck. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I might have a lot of projects to work on. And plus, we've probably gotten our new raid list today."  
  
"I could just stop by to see if you're busy. And if you are, we'll just reschedule."  
  
He initially wanted to say something else, like he didn't particularly want company while he lunched, but he simply nodded. "Yeah, that would be fine."  
  
There was then a great silence between them, as they both waited for the other to make the first move; Ginny waited for Harry to give her some sort of signal that he wanted her to kiss him, while Harry merely stood around because he thought it would be rude of him to immediately walk away. But after several minutes of hesitation, Harry took the initiative and spoke first.  
  
"I better be going," he said in whispered tone. He then proceeded to move several feet away from her, thus bashing her hopes of a goodbye kiss. He wanted desperately to say something tender to her or make a gentle gesture like taking her hand in his, but all he could do was rub his neck in a fit of nervousness. "I'll probably see you later on," he commented, before he began his trek to the fifth floor.  
  
***********************  
  
Harry lowered his head as his gaze stayed fixed on what was once his clean and tidy office. The amount of paperwork that had gathered on the surface of his desk was insurmountable, considering he was only out of the office for a week.  
  
Aside from the pile of documents on his desk, his office was small and uncluttered. In the corner was a tall plant, which had miraculously stayed alive, despite his penchant to forget to water it. Nearby was a large box filled with plaques and photos he had never managed to hang on the wall; he guessed it was his tendency to feel that the rug would be pulled from underneath him at any given moment that prevented him from making himself at home at the agency.  
  
He watched as long piece of rolled up parchment with a red ribbon around it tumbled from atop the mountain of other "urgent requests" and fell onto the floor. He leaned over and unrolled the parchment. And as he had expected, it was a list of homes that were to be raided within the next couple of days. He took a deep breath as he quickly glanced down the list of twenty households that were under investigation; he knew his day would not end until the wee hours of the morning.  
  
But of all the addresses listed on the parchment, the one that caught his attention was of Norland Park, the new home of Draco Malfoy. It was long expected that the Ministry would pay the young man a visit, ever since he purchased the property several months earlier.  
  
He put the large box that was on his seat on the floor and sat behind his desk. The prospect of interrogating Draco didn't fill him with joy as he had expected. Years ago at Hogwarts, he would have smile at the ideal; but now he felt no emotion over his task. Well, he did feel something. Although he hated to admit it, a small tinge of guilt lingered within him and suddenly made its way to the surface. Although Draco's family had supported and financially aided the Dark Lord and many of his supporters, Harry now looked on the young man as a victim of association.  
  
Harry shook his head at the thought that he was sympathizing with a Malfoy. He let the parchment fall out of his hands and onto the desk. He whirled around in his seat and faced the large windows that overlooked London.  
  
He sat back in his chair with his arms behind his head and watched the people down below. The sun was now high in the sky and the warm rays glided along his face. He closed his eyes and sunk down into the cushions of his seat and allowed himself a moment of peace before his day began.  
  
After several minutes of relaxation, he heard a knock on his door. He remained quiet; he hoped the person at the other end, whom he assumed was the young woman he had just left downstairs, would think he wasn't in and leave. She had developed a habit of sporadically coming into his office during the day, and he wanted to put a stop to that practice. Her presence, although well meaning as she always brought him coffee or pastries, always rattled his nerves.  
  
Harry held his breath for a moment as he listened for any signs of footsteps walking away from his door. But he soon heard his door creak open. He turned his head and found himself looking up at Authur Weasley.  
  
"I wasn't disturbing you, was I?" asked Mr. Weasley, as he strolled into the office with his hand in his pockets.  
  
Harry turned his seat around and glanced up at the man. The dark circles around his eyes indicated that had been in the office since the wee hours of the morning, as he was accustomed to doing on many occasions; no matter how early Harry arrived to work, he could always hear Authur busily rustling about in his office.  
  
Authur lifted his hand to his face and rubbed his chin. "I've been going through some of the paperwork and our records. I can't believe things can get in such disarray in a short period of time."  
  
His fingers fluttered to the bridge of his nose and he gave it a pinch. "I need you to draft a report from our interview with Mr. X. We need to justify another raid on the Wurther house." He stopped talking and yawned loudly. "I'm sorry about that Harry. I'm just so tired-oh, I didn't even ask about you. How are you doing?"  
  
Harry managed a small smile. "I'm fine."  
  
"That's good." Authur quickly ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "And is Ginny here already?"  
  
Harry clasped his hands together on his desk and lowered his head. "Yeah, she's here." He didn't want to say anymore, as that information would induce the same embarrassment within him that he faced moments earlier in the daycare center.  
  
But seeing the expression on the young man's face, Authur did not ask him any more questions. "Well, get some rest or a cup of tea before you start on the report. And of course, you know that later today we are going to Malfoy's house." A grin curled onto the corner of his lips, as he stared out into the sunlight. He placed his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his heels. "I've been looking forward to this day for a long time now," he muttered, as his voice suddenly lost its grogginess.  
  
Authur made his way to the door once more and stood in the entryway. "Just give me a holler if anything comes up." He then left the young man in peace, as he made his way back to his office across the hall.  
  
Mr. Weasley's new and grand office was supposed to be Harry's, as the Ministry wanted to reward him for choosing to work with them. But the young man would not accept such an office, when his supervisor has such a shabby one. So, he did what he thought was best and switched offices with Authur. The other man was reluctant at first to accept such a gift, but eventually relented.  
  
In the end, Harry thought the move was a good one, as he had such few possessions to fit into a large room. Plus, he would not have heard the last of it from his coworkers if he decided to take residence in the corner office; many on his floor were already peeved at the special attention he often received from Bagman and other Ministry bigwigs.  
  
Harry noticed that Authur was not as chipper as most mornings, when he would spend at least several minutes in his office, telling him stories. But the workload had been heavier than usual those past couple of months and has affected everyone. The increased raids were the result of many rumors and surveillances that indicated the emergence of a new crop of Death Eaters. These new lawbreakers, who used the attack in June as their inspiration, were said to be gearing up for a war.  
  
Although their department never confiscated anything overly dangerous during their raids and there was no clear evidence of the new Death Eaters conducting meetings, the Ministry was still taking extra measures to ensure that another battle would not take place.  
  
After a few minutes of closing his eyes and even resting his head on the table, Harry finally plunged into the large pile of papers before him and tried his best to organize his assignments. When all the paperwork was sorted into neat piles that he placed on the floor, he began his report.  
  
He opened the file that contained his interview of Mr. X. The Knockturn Alley shopkeeper had been a reliable source to him and Authur, and was always able to provide enough information to warrant several raids. The elderly man, whose identity was obviously concealed for his own protection, associated with many former Voldemort sympathizers and was always more than eager to snitch on those who might be once more dabbling in the Dark Arts - for a fee, of course.  
  
His head remained lowered as he scribbled down his report. So immersed was he in what he was doing that he didn't register a knock on his door. His eyes stayed fixed on the parchment in front of him, as he watched his quill correct some of the grammatical errors he had made.  
  
He smiled to himself, as he thought that correcting his essays was usually Hermione's duty while they were still in school. He took his eyes off the quill and gazed down at his hands, as memories of her flooded into his mind. The sound of her as she scolded him for his poor writing style used to annoy him when he was young and; but now, he would give anything to hear it once more. The smile on his face grew wider as his memories became more focused.  
  
Thus it was surprising to him when he glanced up and saw Ginny standing before him, her lips also curled into in grin as she gazed down at him. "What were you thinking about?" she asked.  
  
Harry sat back in his chair and forced a more serious look onto his face. "Nothing in particular." But his answer apparently did not satisfy her curiosity, as she continued to stare at him. He then contemplated saying he was pondering their night together and how nice it was to have her at his home - he knew this was what she was hoping he would say - but kept quiet; he didn't want to encourage the amorous behavior within her.  
  
She finally gave up looking at him and said, "Are you ready for lunch?"  
  
Harry sat up straight in his chair, and quickly glanced down at his watch; he had been so preoccupied with what he was doing that he never noticed it was well past one in the afternoon.  
  
"I stopped by your office an hour ago," she continued, "but you seemed really busy."  
  
Harry seemed almost relieved that he did not notice her presence at his door then, as she certainly would have caused him to lose his concentration and thus unable to finish his report.  
  
Ginny met his gaze for a moment, before approaching his desk and sitting on the edge. "I asked my father if he wanted to go with us, but he said he had too much work to do."  
  
Harry furrowed his brows when he noticed she seemed to have a smile on her face when she uttered the statement; she was clearly not upset they would be alone together during lunch. Harry, of course, liked having Authur accompany them to various restaurants, as his presence always seemed to buffer the tension between him and Ginny. She never did try to hold his hand as much, or bombard him with endless questions about the state of their union when her father was present.  
  
"Are you ready to go now?" she asked.  
  
After some awkward silence and having to endure her pleading glances, Harry reluctantly got up from his warm seat and walked out into the hall with her.  
  
"Ginny," said Authur, as he leaned over in his chair so he could look at his daughter. "Do you mind bringing me back some food from the restaurant? I don't think I'll be able to leave this office until later today."  
  
While Ginny wandered into her father's office, Harry stayed in the hall and leaned against the wall. He was about to close his eyes when he heard the loud and gregarious voice Mr. Putman, the new director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. A born show off, the man was known to pay others unannounced visits in order to tell them of some agreement his group of eggheads had been able to arrange with another country's agency. His group was currently negotiating a deal with France to allow British Aurors to enter the country in search of criminals.  
  
Harry quickly looked towards his office; the door was still open. He could easily make a fast getaway, if he so wanted. But he found himself unable to budge from where he was standing. Authur Weasley closed the door to his office with his foot when he heard Mr. Putman's voice. Harry envied his supervisor, who now had the luxury of escaping the obnoxious man.  
  
"Oh Harry, my lad," said Mr. Putman as he made his way towards the young man, "I want you to meet my newest employee." He reached over and grabbed Harry's arm, half dragging him down the hall with him. "I don't know if the two of you have already met. There could be that chance, since she also attended Hogwarts."  
  
He looked in either direction with some confusion on is face when he found that his newest protégé was nowhere to be seen. "Where did she go off? I guess she's still talking with Mrs. Wes-Oh Justin, did you meet my new hire?"  
  
Mr. Fitch-Fletchley was making his usual rounds delivering mail and just happed to push his cart down the wrong hall. "Yes, Mr. Putman. I met her earlier today and we informed you that we had gone to school together, remember?"  
  
"Yes, yes. You are clearly right my dear lad." He stopped fidgeting long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out his handkerchief. He then proceeded to wipe his brow.  
  
The man often had droplets of sweat dripping down the side of his face. It was probably due to the fact that he was often doing two or three things at a time, and often moved around the office like a social butterfly. But the chubby man stopped wiping himself for a moment and stared at the overflowing cart that Justin was struggling to take under control. "You seem to have a lot there. Will you be able to manage all of it?"  
  
"Yes, but thanks for-"  
  
"That's good." Mr. Putman became bored with the plights of the young man before him and darted his attention to Ginny, who was in the midst of exiting her father's office. "Ms. Weasley! I haven't seen you in ages." He rushed past Harry and cornered the young girl before she could escape.  
  
Ginny moved her head to the side and glanced over at Harry for some support; but he could do nothing else but stare at her and shrug his shoulders. Author once again escaped the man's questioning by shutting his door.  
  
"It's good to see that I really matter at this agency," Justin muttered under his breath.  
  
Harry reached down and helped the frustrated man with some of the boxes that had fallen on the floor. He was about to place a green parcel back into the metal bin, when he heard a young woman laughing. He paused just as he was about to hold out the package to Justin; the melodic tone of the laughter was so familiar and prevented him from concentrating on anything else.  
  
"Harry," said Justin. "I think there's some room for that box over there." He cleared some space in the full cart for the fragile box Harry held in his hand.  
  
Harry would have looked at the other man, but the young woman coming around the corner caught his attention. He drew back slightly when she was finally standing in front of him. Soon the box was of little importance and slipped from his hand; but Harry never noticed.  
  
Hermione was still laughing from the joke Mrs. Westbrook had told her a few moments earlier, and Harry drank in the sight of the bright smile on her face; it had been years since he'd seen her so carefree and not with signs of worry etched into her furrowed brows. Her face had changed slightly, he mused, as her cheekbones were more pronounced than they had been in school. She wore the deep red robes that Mr. Putman now required for all his staff; her legs were just visible from the slit in front.  
  
He stood up straight, with his eyes wide and mouth opened as he fixed his gaze on her. She stared back at him with equal intensity, but her eyes did not bear the look of surprise that was clearly evident in his gaze.  
  
"Oh there you are my dear," said Mr. Putman. He trotted back to Harry and placed a heavy arm around the young man's shoulders, abruptly jolting him out of his trance. "Harry, I would like for you to meet Hermione Granger."  
  
The old man then busily glanced from Hermione to Harry with slight disappointment, as neither one of them made an attempt to shake the other's hand. The jovial expression that gleamed from the man's eyes soon disappeared; he so hated when people did not share his enthusiasm.  
  
"They already know one another," said Justin. He gingerly picked up the box that lay on the floor, which now contained the broken ceramic garden gnome that Ms. Davies had ordered from the Newport Witch catalog and put it back in the cart. "They were friends in school. You surely remember reading about the trio of Potter, Granger and Weasley in the Dailey Prophet warding off You-Know-Who."  
  
"Oh yes. Nearly slipped my mind."  
  
Just then, Hermione pushed her hair from her face and extended her hand to Harry. "It's nice to see you again."  
  
Her voice seemed pleasant enough to those that did not know her well, but Harry clearly detected that her cheerfulness was forced. He allowed her to take his hand and hold it for a moment. The caress was like he had always remembered - during their more pleasant encounters, of course. It seemed as though all of his senses came to life just then, and he was not able to clearly recall the touch of every part of her skin, the tone of her voice while enraptured and the sight of her face during more passionate interludes. And just as the sensations grew more intense within him, he quickly let go of Hermione's hand, almost pushing it away.  
  
Hermione brought her hand back to her side and directed her eyes to the floor. Then began the pregnant silence between them. Of course, no one else witnessed this tense interaction, as Mr. Putman was busy trying to perform a spell on Ms. Davies' broken parcel. Small groans could be heard from the gnome inside, as his parts were slowly placed back together. The gnome then began to move frantically around the box, mumbling curses to whomever dropped him.  
  
Justin lightly tapped Hermione on the hand and nodded towards Harry as he continued down the hall - probably to face questioning from Ms. Davies as to why her gnome was in such poor spirits. Mr. Putman was long gone by now, as he had already found someone else to talk to.  
  
Harry and Hermione continued to stare at one another; actually, he stared, while she tried hard to hide her discomfort. Her head remained lowered for a moment, as she fumbled with her coat, undoing the buttons before fastening them once more - anything to keep from looking at him, he thought. But she eventually glanced up at him, and took a step backwards in the process.  
  
It was easy to see why she would move away, as Harry's stare had now turned more intense. But Harry could not help the glare that was now in his eyes, as he was suddenly reminded of the events that had caused their breakup. But it was not anger that loomed from his gaze, but mere frustration. However, he glanced away when he realized he was making the same expression that Ron always greeted him with. He looked down at his hands, as he told himself he would not play the victim and try to instill guilt within Hermione, like Ron always tried to do with him.  
  
"How have you been doing?" Hermione tentatively asked.  
  
Harry glanced up at her and gave her a hard look. It soon became clear from the expression on her face that she regretted asking him such a question. He guessed she did not mean to inquire about how he had been handling their breakup during those years, and was making idle chitchat to break the silence. He moved his mouth to answer her, but found it hard to talk. Deep down he feared his nervousness would become evident in his voice. After a moment, he finally muttered, "Fine thanks."  
  
They continued to glance at one another, until Ginny interrupted their quietude. She raced by Harry and greeted Hermione with a hug. "Oh my God," she said, "I thought I wouldn't see you again. I had my hopes up, until my mom told me she saw you in Diagon Alley."  
  
Harry too had been pondering whether he and his estranged friend would meet once more. He had woken up several times during the night with those thoughts. He imagined how he would react and what he would say when he saw her again; he had obviously never imagined he would be so quiet like he was at that moment.  
  
"I had no idea you would be working here," continued Ginny. "Percy never mentioned anything to us about it."  
  
A sly smile crept onto Hermione's face. "It was my idea to keep things quiet. And since Mr. Putman likes the element of surprise, he went along with it."  
  
Ginny grabbed hold of Hermione's arm and pinched her skin. "Why didn't you even keep in touch while you were away?"  
  
Harry wondered the same thing. He knew Hermione wasn't aware of his new home in Chelsea, but she certainly could have sent him an owl through the Ministry. He never expected to receive a heartfelt letter from her - actually, deep down he did - but merely a note to let him know what she was doing and of her whereabouts.  
  
"I was really busy with my work," Hermione responded matter-of-factly. "I meant to communicate with all of you," her eyes flickered to Harry, before settling back on Ginny, "but I really had to establish myself at the agency first. And that meant working long hours."  
  
Ginny's fingers crept down towards Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's all right. I'm not really angry." She paused for a moment and closed her eyes as she breathed heavily. "Now tell me about Paris," she said in a wispy voice. "Is it as wonderful as I've always imagined it to be?"  
  
"It's beautiful. The people are so lively. I know everyone thinks they're rude and everything.well some of them are. But that's because they're such a proud people. But once they feel that you're making an effort to learn their language, they're pretty tolerant. No one really gave me any strife when I mispronounced just about every other word."  
  
With her eyes still closed, Ginny said, "Tell me about the shops and the food. I want to hear everything about the city."  
  
Harry tuned out the women's chatter as Hermione began to give her perspective of the French people and culture. That city had been somewhat of a sensitive subject for him. Ginny had made it clear during the beginning of their association that she wanted to honeymoon in that city with her future husband. Harry cringed slightly when he remembered the expression on Ginny's face and the glimmer in her eyes when she told him this wish; the smile on her lips always indicated that he would be that 'future husband' who would take her to this magical city.  
  
"How have you been doing?" Hermione asked.  
  
This must have been the question Ginny had been longing to hear, as her face immediately lit up. "I've been great," she said. "I've just been trying to save enough money to get a small flat somewhere. It's pathetic to think that I still have to live with my parents at my age."  
  
"Ssh," whispered Harry as he brought his finger to his lips. "Don't say that too loudly. Justin might still be on this floor."  
  
Ginny glanced from right to left for any sight of the young man, before she continued talking. "But hopefully, I won't have to worry about getting my own place." She then took Harry's hand in hers and glanced up at him in the same manner that never ceased to make him uncomfortable, especially when there were others around.  
  
Hermione's gaze flittered from Ginny to Harry as she digested the scene before her. Her face tensed slightly when Ginny placed her arm around Harry's waist. Her eyes then remained on Harry for some time, observing every nuance of emotion that flickered onto his face.  
  
Although Harry kept his eyes focused on the nearby window, he felt the power of Hermione's eyes on him for what seemed like an eternity. He turned her way and observed how her head was now lowered.  
  
He wished he could explain to Hermione, and to others at the agency, that he and Ginny were not a couple. But he did none of this and stayed still as the young woman beside him hooked her fingers around his once more.  
  
But finally, Ginny stopped looking up at Harry and faced Hermione. "We're going out to lunch. Do you want to go with us?"  
  
"No thank you. I don't want to be a third wheel." Her voice sounded almost defeated and she kept her head lowered as she spoke. But she eventually glanced up at the couple with a calm look on her face. Seeing that Ginny was not going to take no for an answer, she quickly added, "I have a lot to do upstairs. It's my first day here, and there's still a lot for me to learn about my position."  
  
Harry kept his hands in his pocket and remained quiet. There was definitely some relief on his part that she would not be joining them; but at the same time, an immense desire to be close to her had now exploded within him. But he made certain to keep his bodily and facial expressions from showing this new growing interest in her. As he and Ginny were about to make their way downstairs, he took a moment to let his eyes sweep up and down Hermione's body one last time while Ginny was preoccupied with finding her wallet. He then allowed Ginny to grab him by the arm and lead him away.  
  
Hermione remained in the middle of the hall and watched them leave. After they were out of sight, she retreated into a nearby corridor and leaned against the wall. Her heart pounded as she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. It had taken all of her strength to keep herself composed during that time.  
  
She had been preparing herself for that inevitable moment for the past two months. And although she was able to conceal the emotions that were running rampant within her at the sight of him, it scared her to think that she would have to keep up the act for months to come.  
  
She opened her mouth as she slowly breathed in and out; but nothing could hold back the well of emotions that were fighting their way to the surface. And just then, a hot tear trickled down her cheek and landed on the corner of her mouth. 


	4. Ron and Harry’s Inquiries

Chapter 4:  Ron and Harry's Inquiries  

Ron walked amongst the throng of people with his head held high.  The wave of recognition had been the perfect ending to his already lucrative afternoon.  The fans had been very appreciative of his actions in the pervious night's game - although he had barely mounted his broom before the snitch was captured.  But he accepted all the compliments graciously, nonetheless.  And since he was not flanked by his more popular teammates that day, he indulged himself in all the attention the Diagon Alley crowd had to give.

When the last of the autograph seekers had finally left, he placed his hands in his trouser pockets and walked down the cobbled walkway to his usual eatery, where he always received special treatment and a free meal from the managers.  He had taken members of his family there on several occasions; it pleased him to no end that they were witness to his celebrity from the patrons who walked up to their table to shake his hand. 

He was outside the establishment and opened the door for an old couple when he spotted his sister sitting at a table near the window.  Harry was seated across from her, his head lowered as he ate.  Ron stood there for a moment, contemplating whether to leave or proceed with his plans.  A wicked smile curled onto his lips as he thought of joining them for their meal; the flustered look on Harry's face the night before when they sat facing one another at the dinner table surely amused him, and he would have delighted in recreating it and jolting the other boy's nerves.  

But just then, Ron witnessed a patron walk up to Harry and placed his hand on the young man's shoulder.  Ron lowered his head and walked away.  Sitting beside Harry, he knew which one of them would receive the most recognition.   He would surly be overshadowed in the place if he walked in.  

His dream was to always outshine the other boy with his own celebrity, but that has not happened since.  But there was a moment a few months before when he saw Harry sitting alongside his family members during a game.  The pained look on Harry's face as the crowd cheered on his team still stayed with Ron, and was a rare moment that he thoroughly cherished.  

But as Ron made his way up the street once more, he saw Percy taking his usual afternoon stroll.  Although his older brother was usually in a dismal mood and talked of nothing but work, Ron was still yearning to have someone to talk to, or at least boost about his accomplishments to.   He could always apparate to the twins' shop; but Fred and George were more likely to test one of their gag candies on him rather than offer him an ego boost.  Ron longingly looked back at the window at his sister.  She was the only one who was able to massage his sense of self.  

Having no one else to go to, he decided to race after Percy.  He was only a few feet away from his older brother, when he noticed that there was a young woman walking alongside him.  When the woman turned her head to the side to swat a bee that was hovering over her shoulder, Ron took a step backwards.  He ended up stepping on the feed of another wizard in the process.  "Sorry about…" He broke off as he continued to stare at the brunette, who was now rounding the corner with Percy.   After catching his breath for a moment, he followed them, keeping several feet behind.  They soon stopped outside a restaurant and began to talk.  Ron was able to find refuge behind a vegetable stand, which allowed him to listen to them without being noticed.  

"Would you like to buy anything, young man?" asked an old witch, as she held up a bushel of carrots.  

"I'm just browsing," he responded in a hushed voice, as to not draw the attention of the two people talking nearby. 

He slowly crept along the wall so he could get closer to his brother and the young woman.  His eyes worked fast to observe the woman's features, starting with her hair and eventually working his way down her body.  But he was able to get a better look at her when she shifted positions and wound up facing him.  

Ron brought his hand to his chest and inhaled deeply when he found himself staring into her face.  A mixture of nervousness and excitement soon spread within him as he looked into her eyes.  He found himself moving away from the wall to get a closer look at her.  But realizing he could soon get caught, he moved back against the wall.  

From this secret position, he was able to hear their conversation and still keep on eye on them. 

"I still have to unpack my things," Hermione said.  "I have to get used to living back here again." She looked up at the sky and sighed loudly.  "I can't believe I get my very own house.  25 Summit Hill."  She shook her head as a smile formed on her lips.  

Just then Percy glanced down at his watch.   "I think we should be getting back.  I have a lot of work I still have to do."

"We've only been out for a few minutes.  We didn't even get something to eat."

Percy still continued to look down at his watch, fretting at the precious minutes he was spending away from his desk.  But he ultimately decided that he should get some nourishment while they were out.  He glanced back in the direction Ron was hiding – which caused the youngest Weasley brother to cower further against the wall.  "I suppose we can go to that Italian restaurant over there," he said pointing to where Harry and Ginny were eating.  "It's a little flashy for my taste, but the food—"

"I know another place," Hermione said quickly.  Her gaze also flittered to the same restaurant; but unlike Percy, she had a deep frown fixed onto her features. "A place that's less…crowded."  She then hooked her arm around Percy's and led away. 

*****************

The black Ministry cars slowly drove up the driveway as the gates creaked open.  Authur craned his neck out the window and gazed at the property, which seemed to go on for miles. The expression on his face was a mixture of fascination and astonishment, but after realizing who owned the property, a sour look soon took over.   "It's a bit posh, don't you think?"  

Harry remained slumped down in his seat, barely paying attention to the estate, as he fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt.  "Yeah," he managed to mutter. 

"Well, I wouldn't expect anything less conspicuous from a Malfoy."  

The caravan of five cars soon came to a halt by the front doors.  Normally, such an entourage would not be necessary, as Authur and Harry usually made the rounds by themselves.  But when dealing with a member of the Malfoy clan, they took along extra backup.  Harry turned his head and watched as some of the Hit Wizards climbed out of the car behind him and passed by his window.  These men didn't knock on the front door, but ventured to the back of the house.  

The curious expression on Harry's face must have been obvious because Authur immediately responded.  "They think he might be hiding his father…or someone else here."

Harry stared at him for a moment, as he wondered who this 'someone else' could be.   But he did not utter a word and soon climbed out of the car.  

The mansion was magnificent to say the least, and contained every enmity - and more - that a spoiled and pampered individual could ever want.  But it seemed as though it was a miniature version of Malfoy Manor.  

"I want you two to go in there," said Authur, as he directed two junior assistants to the double doors at the end of the hall.  "Christopher, you can search upstairs.  And Simon, you're downstairs."

While the other men went on various floors, Authur and Harry rounded the corner to the left and continued down the marble hall.  Mr. Weasley seemed to know exactly where he was going; Harry was sure he had spent the majority of that morning memorizing the estate's floor plan.   "He'll probably be in here," said Authur as he paused in front of a paneled door.  

And just as he had guessed, Draco was in the study.   He was sitting in a chair behind his desk, his gaze fixed at the large window in front of him.  He stared at the men from the corner of his eye when they walked into the room, but made no other reaction to their presence.  "I want to see the warrant," said Draco as he resumed glancing out onto his grounds.  

Authur walked up to the large desk and unfolded the long parchment in front of the young man.  Draco leaned forward and scanned the document, his long and white finger lightly grazing the signature of various Ministry officials.  Harry was curious as to why he would inspect it then; if Draco had any lingering questions about the document's legality, he would never have allowed them to enter his home.  But Harry guessed the young man, like his mother, wanted to be difficult. When Draco was finally satisfied that it was legitimate, he pushed the parchment away.  

"You of course will send me a copy of it," Draco said, without glancing at the man he was talking to.

"Of course."  Authur snatched the parchment and placed it back in his bag.  "Harry, you stay here and do the questioning.  I'll be back in a minute."

Harry was then left alone in the mahogany room to deal with Draco.  He had hoped Authur would do the interrogating, as he was not in the proper mind frame at the moment.  There was long silence, as he looked around the room and observed the various books and other articles that littered the shelves – anything to keep from gazing at Draco.  

Draco sat back in his chair with his hands clasped in his hands, and looked up at him.  The expression on his face immediately took Harry back to their years at Hogwarts.  The smug smile on the corner of Draco's lips was always present after he made a rude snipe at Ron.   Surrounded by his usual bevy of supporters, who would all pat him on the back to show their appreciation for his cruelty, Draco would then watch as embarrassment fluttered onto Ron's face.  It was then clear to Harry that Draco sensed his uneasiness. 

Harry straightened up and searched the room for an extra chair.  He found one in the corner.  He hesitated for a moment, but after looking into that cold stare that was on him, he finally dragged the furniture to the desk and sat down.  He pulled out his notepad and tapped the end of his quill on the edge of the desk.  

Draco reached for the box of cigars that rested on his desk, and cut the tip.  He then sank back in his chair and took a deep puff.  The smoke from the cigar was thick and prevented Harry from seeing his face.

"So," Harry began, "we have some information that you're purchasing a nightclub."  He stared into the smoke when he thought he heard Draco snort loudly.  He waited for an answer, but after several moments, he asked, "Is it not true that you are in dealings to purchase a large building near Sloan Street?"

Harry began to fan his hand in the air to get rid of the smoke.  When it finally cleared, he saw that Draco had a cynical expression on his face.  Harry raised his eyebrow in the air, as if asking the other man whether he was going to respond.  

"Yes, Potter," Draco finally said.  "I am purchasing a nightclub."

"And what are your plans for the building?"

Draco snorted once more.  "What do you think?  It's going to remain a nightclub."  He then lowered his voice and mumbled, "Of course I'll have to restrict the clientele that will be able to come it.  I wouldn't want any old riff raff to be able to get in, now would I?" With that, he gave Harry a hard look.  

Harry ignored him and continued with his questioning.  "There's been some reported Death Eater activity around that section of town.  Can you explain that?"

"No, I can't."

"So it's just a coincidence that you're buying property there?"

"Yes, it is.  And why are you asking me about Death Eater activity to begin with?  I thought my mother supplied the Ministry with that sort of information." 

Harry didn't answer and glanced down at his notepad for more questions.  "Well, if you don't have any involvement with the Death Eaters, why were you inquiring about an antidote for a withering spell?"

Draco was about to bring the cigar to his lips once more, but suddenly stopped.  "Who said I was?"

Upon hearing the almost startled tone in Draco's voice, Harry sat up straight.  "We have our sources.   And as you most certainly know, these sorts of spells are Dark curses.  And are illegal."

Draco's face suddenly turned expressionless, and he lost the smug satisfaction that was once prominent on his lips.  And for once, he stopped staring at Harry and glanced to the shelves of books on his right.  

"Were you practicing any Dark spells?" Harry asked.  

Draco continued his tactic of avoidance and would not meet his gaze.  He only responded to the question by taking in a deep breath.  

"Answering my questions," Harry went on, "would prevent you from getting yourself—"

"Why are you questioning me anyways?" asked Draco as he suddenly snapped his head towards Harry.  "Shouldn't I be questioned by some high ranking Ministry official?"

"The 'high ranking officials' don't intervene unless you've gotten yourself into trouble."

Draco crossed his arms against his chest.  "Well, I'll just wait until then.  In the meanwhile, I want you out of my presence."  

Harry dismissed Draco's temporary stubbornness, as he was used to such behavior from many of the people they questioned.  One such ill-tempered witch threatened to set him on fire if he didn't leave her house; but Authur had warned him early on that such threats never resulted in much.  But they kept precautions just in cause such an emergency occurred.  

Harry flipped through the parchment that chronicled Draco's dealings.  "There is also a large property in Paris that you appear to own.  What might you use this for?"

Draco scoffed loudly.  "It's a house obviously.  I don't believe it's a crime to have two residences, is it?"

Harry brought his quill to the corner of his lips and kept a focused gaze on Draco.  He paid close attention to the manner in which Draco drummed his fingers on the desk with intense speed, and the way his eyes would intermittently avert his stare.  But after several minutes of this silent observation, Harry determined he had all the information he needed for that day and got to his feet to return the antique chair back to its rightful place in the corner. 

Draco placed his elbows on his desk and watched his every move, as his lips twitched in a grimace.   "It's pathetic to see what you've become." 

The statement caused Harry, who was in the midst of placing his notepad back in his bag, to look up. 

"Who would have thought that the famous Boy Who Lived would have turned out to be some….what are you again?  Some lowly assistant?"

"I'm a project officer," Harry said.  

"No matter how you try to dress it up, you're still someone's servant."  Draco rested his hands calmly in his lap; he had finally gotten back the confidence and calm resolve that had escaped him a few minutes before.  "And to think that you have to report to Weasel's father."

Harry did not utter a word, and flung his bag over his shoulder.  He would not fall prey to Malfoy's ploy of trying to lure him into a confrontation.  And the insult on his profession did not affect him; he considered it to be quite silly, to say the least.  Harry thought they were both past the age where they bickered like schoolchildren, but apparently Draco was content to allow that inner brat within him to shine.   

**************************

Ron brought his finger to his mouth as he gazed at the clock on the nearby wall.  The clock now indicated that Percy was still at the Ministry and that Ginny was gone from the house.  But he wasn't concentrating on the whereabouts of his siblings, nor did he care.  His thoughts as he lay on that couch for the past hour had stayed consistently on whom he had seen at Diagon Alley that afternoon.  He constantly played back in his head the sight of her talking to his brother, and the fact that she was now in town.  

Of course the ordeal between him and Hermione had been painful.  But the pain was slightly overshadowed by the embarrassment of being unceremoniously rejected, especially after he showed her time and time again proof of his affection for her.  But the bigger headache always awaited him back in the common room.  

Dean, Seamus and Neville had all assumed – with some confirmation from him, of course – that he was intimately involved with Hermione; so it was a very unpleasant moment when they would ask him why he and his beloved no longer associated with one another.  And the hurt these questions produced were only intensified by the fact that the cause for his breakup with Hermione only slept a few beds away.  

At times, Ron would awake in the middle of the night and stare down at Harry as he gripped at his bed sheets.  He would often have to escape to the common room, where he would attack the cushions of a chair with a knife he had stolen from the Great Hall.  The mess would eventually be blamed on Crookshanks - this gave Ron the small pleasure of seeing Hermione chastised by the rest of the house for not having control over her pet. 

But the anger that erupted within him every few minutes during the end of his Hogwarts experience eventually faded.  His time was too preoccupied with being a great player for his squad and basking in the benefits that came with his occupation.  And that Harry was now bound to mundane deskwork also helped to calm him.  

"Ron," called Mrs. Weasley from the kitchen, "do you want any of these leftovers?"

"No," Ron mumbled.  He was now chewing on the front of his shirt and had made a considerable hole in the fabric.  

"Are you going out tonight?"

Ron lazily turned towards her.  "Why?  Don't you want me here?"

"Of course it's not that dear.  You know I love it when you come around." She stopped wiping down the counter and glanced up at him.  "I wish you would do it more often.  I was just wondering what your plans were for the night."

"Nothing in particu—did you know that Hermione was working at the Ministry?"

Molly placed the dishrag back in the sink and rinsed off her hands.  "Yes.  Ginny told me when she stopped by earlier.  Poor girl, I think she's upset that Harry has to work late.  She's now forced to go over to one of her girlfriend's house for a change.  Anyway, Ginny told me she and Harry ran into Hermione at the office and heard the big the news.  I have to make her promise to come over for dinner some time.  Gin said Harry had very little to say to Hermione, which is a bit odd."

At that statement, Ron immediately sat up on the couch as his brain started churning.  He then remembered Hermione's reaction when Percy suggested they have lunch in the same establishment as Harry and Ginny.   He slowly got up from the couch and began to make a grab for his jacket.  He winced when he caught sight of his wet and torn shirt.  But he was able to hide the destroyed shirt under his jacket.  

"Where are you going dear?" Molly asked.

"Out," Ron flippantly uttered.  

"Do you mind taking Percy along with you? He has no personal life anymore, poor dear.  He's even taken to sleeping at his desk."

Ron sighed loudly as he closed his eyes.  He continued to button his jacket all the while hoping his mother would forget that he didn't answer her.  But that was not the case, as Molly soon placed her hands on her hips and stared at him. 

"This is not the kind of outing I would like to include Percy on," he said quietly.  "But I'll take him with me some other time." 

Molly snorted loudly.  "I can just imagine where you're going."  A defeated and disappointed sigh escaped her lips.  "I wish you were settled down with a nice young woman.  I mean look at Fred.  He's calmed down considerably since he met his girlfriend.  He's not wandering about aimlessly on the town like some vagrant."

Ron didn't bother to look back at her and continued to gather his things.  It was moments like those that made him wonder why he considered coming back home at all, when he had his own flat waiting for him.  

"And look at your sister," Molly continued.  "I've never seen her so happy."

Ron glanced over his shoulder and gave her a long look.  "Well, I wouldn't be so eager to want Harry as a son-in-law if I were you.  He's not as perfect as you think."

His mother stared back at him, creasing her brows every now and then.  "What is going on between the two of you, anyway?  We've all noticed that—"

"I have to get going."

*******************

He stood by the door for several minutes as he smoothed back his hair.  The wind had picked up considerably and his once neatly styled coif was now in shambles.  When finally satisfied with his appearance, he stood up straight, as a confident smile curled onto his lips.  Everything will work out perfectly, he thought over and over again in his head.  The idea to visit her had occurred to him at The Burrow when his mother had mentioned her encounter with Harry at the Ministry.  Seeing that she received such a cold reception from Harry, he thought he could win her over with his kindness. 

He took a deep breath, before knocking on the door.  The excitement built inside of him, as he imagined her opening the door at any given moment; but nothing happened.  When he received no answer after knocking several more times, he pressed his face against the window to see if he could spot any signs of movement.  A dim light could be spotted from inside the tiny house, but nothing else.  

But just as he was about to head down the small walkway, he heard the door creak over.  He turned around.  She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown, with a Crookshanks yawning lazily at her feet.  Neither one said a word as they both stared at the other.  It was difficult for him to see her face, as the light from the hallway cast a shadow on her features.  Then an eerie shiver streaked down his back, causing him to take a step backwards. 

And just when he thought he couldn't stand the silence for any longer, Ron finally mustered the courage to speak.  "I know it's a bit late…" He glanced down at his watch; it was midnight.  A shocked look came over his face.  He had meant to knock on her door earlier, but had lost track of time during his stroll around her neighborhood.  But the walk did nothing to soothe his nervousness.  

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he said.  His gaze then drifted to the robe, which was loosely tied over her nightgown.  His eyes stayed fixed on her bare shoulder, until she finally pulled her robe tight around her body.  

Another awkward silence came over them.  But this time, it was interrupted occasionally by the wind that howled through the air.   And just when he thought his journey had all been for nothing, she finally spoke.  "Why don't you come in for a bit?" she said in a hushed voice.   

The tone of her voice first made Ron think she was being insincere about her offer.  But he then realized she was merely tired.  

Ron made his way to the door and brushed past her into the house.  He then spent several minutes glancing around the hallway.  When he had looked at everything, he finally met her gaze for the first time.  But this time, he was able to see her face.  He could tell that she looked just as nervous as he felt, though she tried to hide it by lowering her head.  

"I'll make some tea," she said.  

But before she could take a step, he grabbed her arm.  "I don't want you to trouble yourself.  I'm not gonna stay long."  He glanced down at the wrist he now held tightly in his hand.  Hermione looked down at it as well, before moving away.  "I'm sorry about that," Ron muttered. 

He then watched as she ventured to the kitchen and poured hot water from the kettle into cups.  Seeing that the kettle was already on the stove, he assumed she had been up when he knocked on the door.  He wondered why it had taken her so long to answer.  But no worries, he thought to himself; he was talking to her now.  He took the moment to look around the small house.  It was plain and the walls were empty, except for the living room.  

"Here you go," she said as she handed him a cup.  

While reaching for it, Ron's fingers wrapped around Hermione's.  He should have let go immediately, but he let his fingers remain on top of hers.  It was only through the startled stare that Hermione gave him that he finally released his grip on her fingers.  

Hermione walked to the living room and sat down in a small chair near the fireplace.  Crookshanks curled into a ball near one of the chair's legs and fell back to sleep.  The hot cup remained in Ron's hands for a long time, before he placed it on the bookshelf.  He noticed that Hermione didn't drink her tea either, as it now lay on the coffee table.  

Ron was about to take a seat in the sofa, but his jitteriness kept him from staying still for too long.  He paced the small room.  Although it appeared as though he was examining the artifacts and paintings that rested on the mantle place and walls, in reality, he was trying to think of what to say to her.  

"Did you have a good first day at the Ministry?" he asked.  His voice was laced with tension; he wasn't very good at feigning idle chitchat.  Hermione must have sensed that the inquiry was just a prelude to more intense questions and simply nodded her head.  

He then stood by the mantle, and with his back turned towards her, he fingered a drawing of the Arc de Triumph.  "Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?  I went through a lot of trouble to get them to you. I must have sent you about twenty letters or so." 

Ron remembered the disappointment he felt when Pig flew back to his flat from his first journey to Paris without any letters tied to his legs.  The little owl had buzzed happily around his flat for completing such a task, but soon faced Ron's anger for coming back empty handed. 

The drawing of the French monument remained in Ron's hand, as he waited for Hermione's response; but she said nothing.  He finally turned around and stared at her.  She was sitting back in her chair, looking down at her hands.  

"I meant to write back," she finally said in a small voice, "but…" 

Ron now leaned against the wall and looked down at her.  "But what?"

"I didn't know what to say to you."  Hermione's gaze remained lowered.  

"How about telling me how you were doing?  Or about your life in Paris.  Anything would have been nice."    He now moved around the room, all the while keeping an intense glare on her.  "You'd think that after a year, you would just send me a little note saying you'd read them.  Any kind of confirmation would have been nice.  I kept thinking you were throwing them into the fire."

There was another silence.  But Hermione finally lifted her head and glanced at him.  "I don't think a simple letter would have been enough for you.  I know you would have wanted more."

Ron finally took a seat on the sofa and leaned towards her.  "What do you mean 'more?'"

"Your letters became a bit intense after awhile and I don't think a one sentence letter would have sufficed."

Both of them made eye contact for a moment, but Ron was the first to look away.  He knew what she was talking about.  His correspondences had indeed become more forceful as time went on, and longer.  He had initially tried to keep them light and friendly, but found it hard to hold back his strong feelings over their breakup.  Plus her lack of response helped to fuel his anger, and he soon found himself sending her angry, ten page letters.  

"Plus, I really didn't want to…" She hesitated for a moment.  "I didn't want to relive the whole episode anymore."

Ron now sat up straight.  His face, which was once flooded with curiosity, had now hardened.  Hermione watched the transformation closely; but she did not let his narrowed eyes prevent her from continuing.  

"Every letter you send me kept repeating what an evil person I was for breaking your heart," she said.  "Do you know how lousy I felt after months of reading that?"

"I can guess it wasn't as lousy as I felt after what you did to me."

A bitter laugh escaped Hermione's mouth, as she shook her head.  "You never give up, do you?"

"What do you expect me to do?  Forget about the whole thing?"

Hermione lowered her voice and glanced down at the floor.  "I don't expect you to forget any of that.  But I do expect you to move on."  She glanced up at him once more, but now her gaze had lost all its bitterness.  "Do you know that I stopped reading your letters after the fourth month?"  She didn't wait for Ron to make a comment, and continued to speak.  "I stopped because I got sick of beating myself up because of my past actions.  I wish that episode in school had never happened and that no one got hurt…"  She glanced back down at the floor and cleared her throat before making eye contact once more.  "But in the end, I realized I did the only thing I could do at the time."

Ron got to his feet and stared down at her, before muttering in a bitter tone, "So you think what you did was right?"  His eyes flittered along her face, as he felt himself become more and more agitated by her lack of guilt.  "How can you just sit there so calmly and say it was okay for you to hurt people."

"I'm not saying it was okay."  She squeezed her eyes.  "I've spent the last couple of years regretting my actions.  But I'm not going to do that anymore.  What I did was wrong, but it was the best decision for me."

Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but Hermione raised her hand to stop him.  She, too, stood up and leaned against the wall, facing him.  "This is the reason I didn't want to respond," she said.  "I knew that no matter what I said to you, it would never make you happy."

Ron took a step forward.  But seeing that she was backing away from him, he kept a substantial distance between them.  "But all I wanted was a resolution."

Hermione crossed her arms against her chest.  "No, all you wanted was for me to say that I picked the wrong boy."

"Apparently you did, since he rejected you."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, as if shocked.  The calm look that was in her eyes suddenly disappeared; she now began to glare at the smirk plastered on his face.  "Get out of my house."

Ron did not move for a while and continued to gaze back at her until she opened the front door.  But as he walked past her, the look of satisfaction was still on his face. 


	5. A Chance Meeting

Chapter 5: A Chance Meeting  
  
The late afternoon sun beat down on the back of Harry's neck, as he walked down the street. To his right were people sitting in the outdoor café, enjoying their large cups of coffee or some other caffeinated beverage. The streets were a lot quieter than a few weeks before, when tourists flocked to the neighborhood for the street carnival. But now, Harry was greeted by people who hurried past him with bags full of purchases from the Portobello Market. Harry walked another block, until he came to his destination and knocked on the door.  
  
"Come in," Sirius said quickly, as he glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen. He then left the door open and walked back to the stove. "I don't want this stuff to burn," he muttered as he attended to the food. "You like vegetable stir fry, don't you?" His eyes were fixed on Harry, as he waited for an answer. But before Harry could respond, he reached for the bottle of soy sauce that sat on his hastily constructed spice rack and poured some of the contents into his wok.  
  
Harry slowly walked into the flat and closed the door behind him. He glanced curiously at Sirius; the man had never used his kitchen for anything other than fixing himself a drink. That a homemade meal would greet him instead of takeout baffled Harry. But he said nothing and took a seat near the long island, and glanced at the pans bubbling away on the stove. A bowl of steaming rice was already resting on the counter.  
  
"Since when did you start cooking?" Harry asked.  
  
With his head still lowered, Sirius quickly shot Harry a glance. He scratched his stubble-ridden chin and smiled. "I thought it was about time I finally put this stove to good use."  
  
On close inspection, it was apparent that Sirius' newly found fondness for the culinary arts was not the only oddity; a book on the spiritual healing of herbs lay on his coffee table, and Harry was certain he detected incense in the air.  
  
As Harry watched the spices and vegetables form an aromatic sauce in the wok, he asked, "Have you got yourself a girlfriend?"  
  
A dark stare flittered his way from his godfather. "Don't be so cheeky," Sirius replied.  
  
But Sirius provided no further explanations to these new changes, except for a few knowing looks. Harry finally gave up fishing for any answers and reached into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope of money and casually placed it on the counter. Sirius laid his hand on the envelope, before quickly depositing it into a nearby drawer. Neither one said a word, nor made any acknowledgement about this monthly exchange.  
  
Unable to find any legitimate work in the Muggle world, Sirius now made his living as a freelance detective for those having qualms about their spouse's fidelity. And although the pay could be lucrative, the jobs were infrequent.  
  
As for property and a bank account, the man had none - the flat was in Harry's name. Thus, the monthly delivery from Harry provided him with the cash flow he needed to go about his daily activities.  
  
"Did you get any new cases?" Harry asked as he spun around on the stool.  
  
"I just finished one last night. I caught the wife in a hotel room in Ealing with a younger man."  
  
"It was a woman this time?"  
  
"Oh yeah," said Sirius, as he quickly gazed up at Harry through his long lashes. "I'm getting more and more request from husbands these days." Sirius shook his head, and placed the vegetables in a bowl. "All these rich old men are going and marrying themselves young girls. But later these women end up straying. I don't blame them much; many of these bastards look like they're about to keel over."  
  
As he spun faster, Harry's eyes fell upon a pink garment that was tucked away in the corner of the counter. He stopped his little game and leaned forward. Seeing the startled expression on his godfather's face from the corner of his eyes, Harry quickly grabbed the garment, before the other man had enough time to hide it. Harry lifted the pink satin panties in the air. "And I guess this is what the husband gave you to track down his wife." He raised an eyebrow. "But why did you end up keeping it?"  
  
When Sirius did not reply, Harry added, "Now tell me, what devious acts have you been conducting with this woman's knickers?" He opened his mouth to laugh, but ended up sucking in his breath instead when he spotted a figure standing near the entrance of Sirius' bedroom. Harry coughed loudly when the woman finally moved into the light.  
  
She had not changed since he had last attended her class several years earlier; the same gaudy beads hung around her neck, and her wrists were clamored with jewelry. A long scarf hung from her shoulders and trailed behind her, as she tiptoed into the kitchen. "What's all this talk about knickers?" she asked.  
  
"Harry and I have just been talking about last night's case," said Sirius.  
  
Sibyll's eyes fixed on Harry's hand. And without any warning, she grabbed the panties away from him. She then glanced up at the ceiling at nothing in particular, as her fingers ran along the fabric. "Oh Samantha," she uttered almost to herself. "You were not a very happy woman."  
  
Normally such acknowledgments of the complete obvious would have caused Harry to roll his eyes, but the shock of seeing her in Sirius' flat - and in his bedroom, no less - prevented him from making a mockery of her statement.  
  
She soon let the panties drop from her fingers and lowered her gaze, until she was staring at Harry. "I had an inkling you would be coming around here," she stated in a wispy voice. But she said no more to him and directed her attention to Sirius. A limp hand was then placed on the man's shoulder. "I have finished adding the final touches to your bedroom."  
  
"Sibyll," Sirius stated, "I hope you haven't gone overboard. I don't want to walk in there see a bunch of scarves every-"  
  
She placed her finger against his lips to stop him from talking - a gesture that caused Harry to grimace and look away. "Don't worry," she said. "I just cleaned up a bit." She coyly glanced away and added in a hushed voice, "And I might have tied a scarf on your bedpost, and placed a container of potpourri on your dresser."  
  
Taking delicate steps that made her appear as though she was floating along the floor, Sibyll walked towards Harry. Her hand reached for his face and grazed his cheek, causing the young man to move away. "Something's troubling you, isn't it?"  
  
Harry said nothing. He never expected much from her predictions in the past, and his opinion of them had not changed during that time.  
  
"Someone has re-entered your life," she continued. Her hand remained near Harry's face, as she stared at him. But just when Harry was finally showing interest in what she had to say, she moved away and began to address Sirius once more. "Is that cookbook helpful?"  
  
Sirius nodded.  
  
She then walked to the couch and swung her large bag over her shoulder, before heading for the door. "I don't think I will be joining the two of you for dinner. I have a client arriving in ten minutes." Seeing the expression on Harry's face, she added, "I have a fortune telling business upstairs. It seems as though Muggles are more appreciative of my gift than you students ever were." She paused for a moment, before uttering, "Take care of yourself lad, for hard times await you."  
  
Harry wrinkled his brow when she left the flat; he didn't know if he was puzzled more by the smirk that was on her lips when she gave him the warning, or that she had an association with Sirius.  
  
Sirius, on the other hand, busied himself at the dining room table, as he cleared off old issues of the Daily Prophet that Harry had delivered to him in the past. No wondered he stopped asking me for them, thought Harry; he assumed his godfather now received information about the wizarding world from his upstairs neighbor.  
  
Sitting at the table across from Sirius, Harry was only able to take a bite of his food when the urge to ask about Sibyll seemed to overwhelm him. Casually resting his fork on the plate, Harry leaned forward and asked in his most neutral voice, "How did you and Professor Trelawney get together?"  
  
Sirius paused as he was about to bring his fork to his mouth. He, too, placed the utensil down on the plate, but it fell with a louder clank that Harry's. "She lives upstairs. So, it was only a matter of time before we bumped into one another." He sat back in his chair as his face finally relaxed - he was obviously recalling their encounter.  
  
"Can she be trusted?"  
  
"Of course. She would never give away my whereabouts to the Ministry."  
  
Harry lowered his head and gazed down at his fingers. He hesitated for a moment, but then finally asked, "You're not dating her, are you?" He closed his eyes; he was clearly not able keep his disgust from showing.  
  
"No, we are not dating." Sirius reached across the table and grabbed Harry's hand, forcing him to make eye contact with him. "I enjoy her company. That's all. It's nice to have someone to talk to sometimes. Especially since you've been working long hours these past couple of weeks."  
  
******************  
  
It was dusk when Harry finally left his godfather's flat. Instead of immediately heading back home, he stood in the sidewalk and looked up at the large sign that stood outside of Trelawney's second floor home. "Tea readings," he said to himself.  
  
"You're not thinking of going inside there, are you?" came a female voice from behind him. "I'd think you would have had enough of predictions."  
  
Startled, Harry stumbled into a nearby bush, but eventually turned to face the woman. "No, I wasn't thinking about going in there," he muttered. He now looked her up and down. She was not wearing the red robes he had seen her in the previous day and her face looked more relaxed. He stayed quiet and continued to stare at her.  
  
A gust of cool wind blew just then, causing her wavy hair to flutter in front of her face. She pushed the strands aside. "I guess I better be off then." But she did not move immediately and stood there on the sidewalk facing him for another minute or two - which forced an annoyed pedestrian to walk in the street in order to get past them. "Have a good night."  
  
Harry's immediate urge was to say something to prevent her from walking away, but he could not bring himself to talk. He then watched as he finally gave up trying to initiate a conversation with him and started down the street. His heart thumped against his chest while he watched her increase the distance between them. He just knew that she would soon round the corner and disappear.  
  
"Wait," he finally mustered to shout at her. When he had caught up to her, he stammered for breath, which was due mainly to the excitement he felt from seeing her again than from his light jog down the street. "I'm sorry about back there. You took me by surprise." He finally composed his nerves and asked, "What are you doing in this part of town?"  
  
"Just taking a walk. I've been in the office all day with Percy. But I finally had to get out of there and have a break. I think he still might be working though. What about you?"  
  
Harry glanced over his shoulder at Sirius' flat, and its black painted door. He hesitated. "Same as you," he finally responded. "Just out for a bit of air myself."  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot. You live around here."  
  
Harry rocked uncomfortably on his heels. He then got the sudden urge to ask why she had not visited; but he did not want to disrupt the casual nature of their exchange. He kept quiet as they continued down the road.  
  
"How did the raid go on Malfoy's house?" Hermione asked.  
  
"How did you know about that?"  
  
"Well, it seems as though our departments are going to be working closely together. I don't know all the details, but I certainly know that it involves Malfoy."  
  
Harry placed his hands in his pockets and stared straight ahead of him. From the corner of his eyes he saw Hermione glancing up at him for an answer.  
  
"It was all right," he muttered. "But.it wasn't like I thought it would be." He paused to reconsider how he felt sitting across from Malfoy that day. "I thought I would get a lot of satisfaction from seeing him get raided, but I just ended up feeling sorry for him." He quickly glanced down at Hermione. "Is that crazy to feel that, considering what his family has done?"  
  
"No. It's a sign of your maturity, I guess. I don't think you hold any vendettas against other people like." She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from uttering the person's name. "It just shows that you're not a petty teenager anymore," she quickly added.  
  
Harry stopped walking and hooked his arm around her. His gaze flickered from her face, to the group of children playing football in the nearby park. "Do you think he's harboring Death Eaters?" He scratched his head and finally glanced down at her. "Mr. Weasley seemed very intrigued with his Paris residence. Plus, there's been talk that Voldemort didn't actually die." Harry's eyes lowered, as his voice became soft and solemn. "You don't think Malfoy's hiding Voldemort or his father in France, do you?"  
  
"I don't know. I sure hope not." Watching the expression on Harry's face grow more tortured, Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right? You don't look so well."  
  
"It doesn't seem like something he would do," whispered Harry.  
  
"Why wouldn't he do something like that? He's a Malfoy. He and his family owe their wealth to Voldemort. So, why wouldn't he show his loyalty?"  
  
"No. I don't think he would do that." Harry began to rub the back of his neck as though a sudden pain had just shot through his body. "I don't want to imagine what would happen if Voldemort came back. Having to go through that again." He closed his eyes and sighed loudly.  
  
"Let's not talk about this anymore," said Hermione. She waited patiently while Harry kept his eyes closed for several more moments.  
  
When Harry had finally gotten thoughts of Voldemort out of his mind, they made their way down the street once more. After ten minutes of walking, they reached Harry's home.  
  
Hermione took a step backwards to admire the building. "This is a magnificent mansion," she said. But she suddenly stopped smiling, and gave Harry a stern look. "I sure hope it's protected. I mean, anyone can come off the streets and-"  
  
"Don't worry. Do you actually think Fudge would let England's most prized possession fall victim to a Dark Wizard?" He, too, got an eyeful of his home when he gazed up and down the building. "This place is well protected. A little too well protected, if you ask me."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"It seems as though Fudge has taken it upon himself put place a surveillance on who apparates into my flat."  
  
"But, isn't that a good thing?" asked Hermione. "You can never be too careful."  
  
"I suppose. But it prevents Sirius from coming over. That's why I always have to go to his place. And he refuses to walk over here because-"  
  
Hermione grabbed Harry's hand. "Sirius? How's he doing?"  
  
"He's fine." But he lost the smile that was on his face and lowered his voice. He leaned close to Hermione's ear and whispered, "If I tell you something, will you promise not to say anything to anyone?" When she nodded, he said, "I've set him up in a flat where you first found me."  
  
"Why are you whispering?"  
  
Harry pulled away and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I guess it's because I'm unsure about what spells and charms the Ministry could have placed on this block."  
  
He glanced down the length of the street that ran in front of his home, as if he expected someone to be recording his every action. "McGonagall helped with some of the spells that are on the flat," he stated, "and she says none of them are invasive. But I don't know. I don't think Fudge was entirely forthcoming with her."  
  
He took hold of Hermione's arm and led her into the building. "That's the reason Sirius won't step foot in here. He thinks he'll be arrested on the spot if he comes to see me."  
  
"But I thought the Ministry called off their hunt for him?" said Hermione in a lowered voice. She then glanced to her right and left, as she and Harry were being watched.  
  
Harry elbowed her, when it was obvious she was poking fun at his overly cautious, almost paranoid, behavior. He leaned against the stairwell and chuckled.  
  
Hermione sat on the bottom step and laughed as well. But when the giggling had died down, she asked, "Why would the Ministry arrest him, when they've made it clear to the public that they are not looking for him anymore?"  
  
"Just because they've stopped looking for him doesn't mean he's off charges." When he saw the creases appear on Hermione's brow, he quickly added, "It's a long story."  
  
Their conversation ended then, as he remained against that wall, twiddling his thumbs. "Do you want to come up?" he asked. He didn't look at her face, and kept his gaze focused on the front door, just in case she rejected his offer. But he glanced down when he felt her fingers entwine around his own.  
  
Hermione got to her feet. "Why don't you lead the way?"  
  
While Harry crept slowly up the stairs to his flat, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Did you know that Sirius and Trelawney are now friends?" He didn't have to see the expression on her face to know that the news shocked her as it did himself. "I just found out today when I saw her at his place. And the strange thing was that there was incense and scarves all over his flat." Harry shook his head. "He must be really lonely to want to her companionship. I'll try to visit him more often."  
  
He then waited for Hermione to make a comment, but none was uttered. He turned around to ask if she had heard him; she was not there. He walked back down to the fourth floor. He found her huddled in the corner, with her back turned to him. "Hermione?" he said as he slowly approached her. "What's wrong?"  
  
She turned around and finally faced him. Although there were no signs of tears on her face, her eyes appeared watery and puffy. Harry didn't utter another word and only continued to look at her. Hermione reached for the pocket of her coat and pulled out her handkerchief. She wiped her eyes.  
  
"Did I do something to upset you?" Harry asked.  
  
Hermione shook her head. "No. It's just that." She kept the handkerchief pressed against her face, half shielding herself from his gaze. "You just don't know how wonderful it feels to be talking to you like this." She lowered her hand, allowing him a glimpse of a single tear running down her face. "I can't remember the last time I've been able to have a simple conversation with you without it getting heated."  
  
Harry's fingers made their way to her face and wiped away the tear. As though she was incited by his touch, Hermione closed her eyes and lost the hold she had on her emotions.  
  
"Last night," she managed to say, "Ron paid me a visit. The conversation, as you might expect, got very ugly."  
  
Harry took the handkerchief away from her and proceeded to dry up her cheeks; the sudden flood of tears had become too much for his fingers to handle. "It's okay," he whispered, as he drew her body into his and allowed her to cry on his shoulder.  
  
"I didn't mean to screw things between us Harry," Hermione muttered against his ear. "I hated having to pretend things were fine with us when they weren't."  
  
His fingers drove into her hair as he tried to soothe her. "I don't want to fight with you anymore," he said. "I don't want to live the rest of my life walking around hating you." He looked down at her and tilted her chin towards him. "You didn't screw things up with us. I mean, you hurt me.but I don't want this tension between us anymore. I've had to live with it for over two years now."  
  
"I'm so sorry Harry. I'm sorry I did this to you and Ron. I never wanted- "  
  
"Shh. You don't have to say anything else." Harry held her once more in his arms.  
  
He closed his eyes, as her low whimpering echoed through the hall. When she finally grew quiet, Harry traced his finger across her face. "I want us to start fresh again, and not think about the past. It hasn't gotten us anywhere, except hurt. Agreed?"  
  
Being somewhat choked, Hermione mouthed her answer to him. She then pressed her face against his chest, and closed her eyes as his body heat enveloped her.  
  
Harry began to smooth the strands of hair that were now stuck to her cheek. A feeling of calmness and relief now surrounded him, as he continued to play with her hair. He ran his hand down her shoulder, and along her arm; but it soon found its place on her cheek once more.  
  
He opened his mouth to utter a statement about their new rekindled friendship, but he only sighed deeply instead. His finger now ran along her bottom lip, as he lowered his head.  
  
"Harry, is that you?" came that familiar voice that often greeted him on his way to his flat.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes tightly and muttered an obscenity just under his breath. Glancing down at Hermione, it was apparent that she, too, bore signs of frustration on her face. The woman's timing was ill calculated, they both silently communicated to the other. But they did not pull apart right away, and continued to stare at one another for directions on what to do next.  
  
But Harry eventually turned around and faced his neighbor. "Hello, Mrs. Whistlethorpe. How are you?" His voice was flat, although he tried to sound happy to see her.  
  
Mrs. Whistlethorpe did not notice Harry's annoyance; her attention was focused on the young lady standing behind him. "Have I ever met you dear?" She walked past Harry and stood before Hermione.  
  
Hermione looked over Mrs. Rogers' shoulder to Harry, as she telepathically asked him what she should do. Harry shrugged his shoulders. Hermione took it upon herself to shake the old woman's hand and introduce herself. "I'm Hermione. Harry's friend."  
  
"Well, isn't that nice. Everyone in the building was starting to think Harry didn't have any friends." She went back to her apartment and stood in the doorway. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything." There was a sly twinkle in her eyes, as her gaze drifted from Harry to Hermione. "The two of you looked awfully cozy just then."  
  
"No, you weren't," responded Harry. "We were just talking." He didn't look at the old woman as he spoke; he knew the smile that was on her lips would surely cause him to blush. He quickly said his goodbyes to her, before grabbing Hermione's hand and leading her to the next floor.  
  
"Does she always do that?" asked Hermione when they reached his door.  
  
"Yes. And can you imagine her and the other tenants having a meeting about whether or not I have friends?" He looked down at Hermione and glared at her. "Stop laughing, it's not funny. I have to.oh, what am I kidding? It is funny."  
  
When they had finally stopped laughing, Harry reached for the doorknob of his flat. But he didn't have to look for his keys this time, because the door immediately flew open. Harry took a step back, almost knocking Hermione over in the process.  
  
Ginny stood in the entryway, with a crisp white apron tied around her waist and a wooden spoon in one hand. "I didn't expect you back so soon," she said. "I wanted to surprise-Hermione, what are you doing here?" The smile on her face faded when her stare flickered down to Harry and Hermione's interlocking hands.  
  
Hermione quickly pulled her hand away from Harry's grasp.  
  
Harry immediately noticed the awkward manner in which Hermione now fidgeted with the buttons of her jacket. "Hermione and I met on my way back here," he said to Ginny, although his eyes were still locked onto the other woman. "I invited her up, since she's never seen my flat."  
  
"That's a great idea," said Ginny. She reached out for Harry and wrapped her arm around his. "Hermione, you're more than welcomed to join us for dinner. We're having spaghetti." Before Hermione had a chance to accept the invitation, Ginny brought the wooden spoon to Harry's mouth. "Taste this and tell me if the sauce has enough seasoning."  
  
Harry reluctantly tasted the sauce on the end of the spoon - he had no choice; it was being shoved into his mouth. "It tastes fine," he muttered as he licked his lips. He soon felt Ginny's fingers on his face, as she wiped the tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth.  
  
Hermione, all the while, stood a few feet away and watched them. "I'll have to decline your offer," she said. "I have work waiting for me back at the office."  
  
Finally satisfied with the way Harry's face now looked, Ginny said, "That's too bad. Maybe next time." She would have said more, but quickly headed back to the kitchen to attend to that evening's meal when she detected a burning odor.  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione quietly headed to the stairs. But her escape was foiled when Harry took hold of her arm. "Don't go," he said in a soft voice. "I want you here with me."  
  
"It looks as though you already have company." Hermione looked up at his face and tried to give him a genuine smile. "I'll see you at work." She headed down the stairs, leaving him in the doorway. 


	6. The Invitation

Chapter 6: The Invitation  
  
Harry glanced down at the floor near Percy's desk; a blanket and what looked like a pillow were tucked away in the corner. Next to these items, lay a small leather bag, which he assumed must have been the man's toiletries. "Is it true he sleeps here?" he asked the woman sitting in the other desk, only a few feet away.  
  
Hermione's head remained lowered. "That's what I hear," she muttered in a soft voice. Her quill moved steadily across the parchment in front of her.   
  
Harry wanted to ask her another question, but was under the impression he was interrupting her work. He instead stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pocket, as he waited for Percy and Arthur to return to the office. He occasionally threw Hermione a quick glance every now and then.   
  
She had been unresponsive towards him, ever since he saw her that morning in the cafeteria. He had raced up to her in hopes of them breakfasting together, when he received the chill. "Work waits," she had said to him, before grabbing her coffee and muffin, and heading to her office with Percy.   
  
He had hoped she would warm up to him by that afternoon when he was informed by Mr. Weasley that they would be working with her department in regards to Malfoy's case. But she had not uttered a word to him since Percy and Mr. Weasley walked down the hall in search of more files.   
  
Harry occupied his time by pacing in the small space between the two desks, while trying to appear as thought he was thoroughly engrossed in his own thoughts and not consumed with Hermione. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed too preoccupied with her report to take any notice of him. Harry watched from the corner of his eyes when she stopped writing and scratched her cheek with the feathered end of her quill.   
  
He stared down at her and observed the delicate manner the feathers moved up and down her skin. So transfixed was he in watching the movement of her quill, he failed to notice that she was now glancing at him through her long lashes.   
  
Harry then moved uncomfortably on his feet. His hand lifted, as he began to scratch the back of his neck. A long and awkward silence now loomed between them. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when Percy and Mr. Weasley entered the room, with Mr. Putman trailing behind them.   
  
"We've finally gotten your authorization forms," said Percy, as took two gold colored slips of parchment from his possession and handed one to Harry and the other to his father. "It took us so long to get them because the French are very touchy. They've put a lot of restrictions on foreign officials entering their country." Percy then barely managed to squeeze past Harry to get back to his desk.   
  
"I don't care about the restrictions," said Mr. Weasley, "as long as we can go to Paris." He glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Putman, who lingered in the doorway due to the cramped conditions in the room. "What about the Aurors? We're going to be needing four or five authorization forms for them as well."  
  
Mr. Putman scratched his balding head. "Well, that's going to be a bit more difficult," he said. The normally cheerful expression in his eyes disappeared, as deep lines formed on his forehead. "The forms for them are different in nature and we've been having a problem…"   
  
His eyes brightened up once more when he shot a glance at Hermione. "But it shouldn't be any trouble," he stated. "We have Hermione on our team now, and she's very familiar with many of their officials. I'm sure they'll grant us permission."   
  
And then as if on cue, the other three men directed their gaze at Hermione, causing her to look down. Mr. Putman reached past Arthur and squeezed Hermione's shoulder.   
  
Once her embarrassment had faded, Hermione asked, "Why do you need the Aurors to accompany you and Harry?"  
  
"Well," said Mr. Weasley, "we've gotten information from some of our contacts that Malfoy is keeping a full staff of nurses at his Paris estate. And, if You-Know-Who's there, we want to be prepared."  
  
Just then, Mr. Putman placed an arm around Arthur's shoulder and whispered something into his ear. Harry knew it had more to do with the Malfoys from the expression on Mr. Weasley's face. The two men then headed down the hall so they could continue their conversation in private.   
  
Not having any urgent business to attend to at that moment, Harry lingered in the entranceway for another moment, flashing sideways glances at Hermione. He cleared his throat several times in a lame attempt to get her attention, but was only able to draw a raised eyebrow from Percy. Finally giving up, Harry headed back to his office.  
  
As he rounded the corner on his floor, the noise level began to pick up substantially. In the middle of the hall stood a group of five young women, who were all talking excitedly to one another, as they flashed glimpses in the direction of Mr. Weasley's office.   
  
"Do you think he's single?" one of the women asked.   
  
"I think so," answered a second lady. "But I could always ask his sister. She works down in the daycare center, you know."  
  
Glancing in the direction the women were looking, Harry recognized the source of all their excitement and giddiness. Standing conspicuously in the entryway of his father's office, with his orange and black quidditch robes draping against his lean body was Ron. Although he seemed to be in deep conversation with his father, he glanced over his shoulder every so often and flashed the women a smile.   
  
Harry stayed pressed against the wall, as he tried to decide whether to proceed to his office or wander around the building one more time. At that moment, he cursed the closeness of his and Arthur's offices. But he could not flee; Ron was now looking directly at him.   
  
Seeing that he could not run away, especially now that he had been seen, Harry walked down the hall. In that instant, his office never seemed further away, and the journey there was definitely more arduous; with a deep scowl now evident on his face, Ron watched his every action. There was something malicious in the way Ron was observing him, as though the redhead was willing him to trip and fall on his face, so he would get the ultimate satisfaction.   
  
With his hand now firmly on the doorknob, Harry was almost able to make an easy escape; but this was not to be. Unfortunately for him, he had also been spotted by Mr. Weasley.   
  
"Harry, come here for a minute," called Mr. Weasley.   
  
Harry lowered his head and cursed his bad luck. But he turned around and walked towards Mr. Weasley's office, while still keeping a substantial distance between him and Ron.   
  
"Ron was just telling me about the upcoming game between the Cannons and Falcons," Arthur said. "Whoever wins the match will be the division leader. And I have no doubt," a proud smile then developed on his face as he gazed up and down at Ron, "that it will be the Cannons. It's going to be quite a spectacle and we don't think you should miss it."  
  
"I don't know," Harry mumbled under his breath. "There are still things we have to work out in regards to…our case." He then gave Arthur a knowing look.  
  
"Oh, one night away work won't hurt. Plus, Mr. Putman and I have already taken care of the details." His voice then went up an octave when he said, "And after the match, we're all going to Ron's place for dinner."  
  
Harry hurriedly glanced at Ron's face; surely the other man did not want him in his home. But no such displeasure could be detected in Ron's expression. In fact, Ron leaned against the door frame and gazed down at his nails, while a smug smile developed on his lips.   
  
Ron then looked up at him. "It would be great if you were there. The more, the merrier." He leaned close to Harry and lowered his voice. "In fact, I'm planning on inviting Hermione as well."   
  
Harry could feel Ron's eyes boring into him, to catch his reaction to the mention of Hermione's name. But when Harry failed to respond, Ron leaned back against the door as a frown creased onto his face.   
  
"I guess I could make it," Harry finally said. He would have declined, had Mr. Weasley not been standing only inches away, his gaze drifting from Ron to Harry as if his actions had finally mended the riff that once lay between the two young men.   
  
"Right then," said Mr. Weasley, as he placed a hand on Harry and Ron's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'll send word to Molly that you will be joining us." He then walked to the fireplace to inform his wife of the news.  
  
Harry and Ron were then left alone in the doorway, each one looking at Mr. Weasley and wishing he could learn to have quicker conversations. Harry's gaze flittered in every direction, except at the man standing next to him. He once more considered going back to his office, but kept still.   
  
Ron was a lot less fidgety, as he crossed one leg over the other and observed Harry. "This is a very important match," he muttered. "Every media outlet will be there."  
  
"I would imagine," Harry replied in a flat tone. He too was aware of the great build-up that surrounded the game. Plus, that one of the Cannons' beaters had "accidentally" missed the bludger during the last match, and ended up striking the Falcons' keeper on the head only fueled the rivalry between the two teams. Many anticipated a melee to ensue after the upcoming game, as well.   
  
"The death poll is very high," said Ron. "But, of course no one that I know is betting that one of the Cannons will lose their life."   
  
Harry didn't hear Ron's statement, however; his eyes were locked on the woman coming down the hall.  
  
"Fred and George thought they'd be funny," Ron continued, "and bet that…" He stopped talking when he realized he had lost Harry's attention. He glanced over his shoulder.  
  
Hermione, who was walking steadily towards Harry, now stopped in the middle of the hall when she realized Ron was with him. Her eyes flickered to each man for a moment, before she took a deep breath and continued on her way.   
  
She stopped a foot away from Harry and observed both of them. She opened her mouth to say something, but remained quiet. That was the first time she had seen them together in over two years, and wondered if she had interrupted a quarrel. But seeing that Mr. Weasley was only a few feet away, she assumed they were forced to be civil to one another.   
  
"Here are all the documents you and Mr. Weasley need," Hermione said to Harry. Her hand grazed Harry's as she handed him the sheets of parchment. But she was quick to pull away; she had noticed a grimace forming on Ron's face from the corner of her eyes.   
  
There was then silence, as quick glances were being exchanged between the three of them.   
  
"Oh, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "I didn't know you would have the documents ready this quickly." He took them from Harry's hand and examined each one. "There sure are a lot of restrictions." He then placed his arm around Harry's shoulders. "It seems like you and I will have our work cut out for us," he uttered as he pulled the young man towards his desk.   
  
Seeing that Harry was indisposed with his father, Ron moved closer to Hermione. "It's nice to see you again." He gave her a smile, which Hermione forcibly returned. "I was hoping that you and I could have a chat."  
  
"I think I have to get back. We're really busy at the—"  
  
"But this won't take but a minute." Ron glanced down the hall to a small office with an opened door. "I don't think anyone's using that office. Maybe we can go in there."  
  
Hermione hesitated before answering. Her gaze drifted to Harry, who was throwing her looks from over his shoulder. After a moment of consideration, she replied, "Sure."  
  
It was clear that the office had not been used in awhile, since it smelled strongly of mildew. Hermione stood by the door and placed her hand over her nose while Ron struggled to open a tiny window.   
  
"That's as far as I could get it," Ron said when he made his way back to her.   
  
Hermione didn't say anything and tried to breath through her mouth. But she soon forgot about the odor when she saw that Ron was standing extremely close to her. She reached behind her and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, just in case.   
  
Ron placed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "I'm sure you know about tomorrow's game." When Hermione nodded, he continued. "I was hoping you would attend it, as my guest. We can have a victory celebration at my house afterwards."   
  
"Do you think that's a good idea?"  
  
"Why not? I don't think it's too cocky to plan a victory celebration the day before. I just know that we're going to—"  
  
"Not that," interrupted Hermione. "I was talking about having me at your house. Do you really want me there?"  
  
Ron remained quiet for a moment. He then took a step towards Hermione. "Of course I want you there. My whole family is going to be with me, and it wouldn't seem right if you weren't there." He glanced down at the floor and muttered in a harsh tone, "Even Harry's been invited."  
  
Hermione didn't have to voice her astonishment over his last comment; Ron carefully read the expression on her face. "Yes, Harry will be there," he said again, to reassure her that she wasn't hearing things. He took a deep breath and puffed out his chest. "I invited him myself."  
  
"Does this mean that you guys…are back to being friends?"   
  
Ron huffed loudly and glanced away.   
  
Hermione lowered her head. The momentary excitement she had been feeling vanished. She knew that it was too premature to think that Ron and Harry had put aside their feud.   
  
"Hermione," Ron said in a soft voice. He placed his hand around her chin and lifted her head. "What's your answer?"  
  
Although Hermione knew there would be lots of tension between the two men the following night, she still could not deny herself the opportunity to see Ron play in that momentous game. She looked deep into Ron's eyes and muttered, "I will be there."  
  
Ron did not bring his hand back to his side; his fingers remained under Hermione's chin, making small circles against her skin. He then leaned forward.  
  
Hermione moved her head to the side before Ron's lips could make contact with hers. "Ron, what are you doing?"  
  
"I'm trying to give you a kiss." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. Lowering his head, he made another attempt. And once more, he was denied the pleasure of a kiss. "What's wrong with you?" he finally asked when Hermione wiggled out of the embrace.  
  
"I should be asking you that same question." Hermione's body was now pressed against the door. "One minute you're yelling at me, and then the next minute you invite me over to you house and attempt to kiss me."  
  
"Oh that. Sorry about the other night. I was just mad. But I'm not mad anymore." He then grazed Hermione's cheek with the back of his hand.  
  
Hermione moved away from his touch.   
  
"I know you probably won't believe me," said Ron, "but I want to put everything behind us. I want us to go back to when we were happy and in love."  
  
"Ron, we can never—"  
  
Ron placed his fingers against Hermione's mouth. "I know you were going to say that it would never work out. But I'm willing to overlook all the mistakes we made in the past. All I could think about that night I left your house was how sorry I was and how much I wanted to be with you." He paused, before uttering, "I love you."  
  
He placed his head on Hermione's shoulder and deeply inhaled the scent of her perfume. "You're the only person I want to be with," he said against her skin.  
  
Hermione's heart pounded, as she felt Ron's arms tighten around her waist, forcing her into a hug. The feel of his warm body and hot breath against her skin was overwhelming. She now wished that she had not let go of the doorknob.   
  
"Listen," she said after she pushed him away, "You're getting the wrong idea. I could never go back to being your girlfriend. I just want to be your friend."  
  
She held her breath as she half expected him to explode. Although a tense expression was now on his face, he quietly stared down at her.   
  
Ron eventually brought his hands back to his side and shoved them back in his pockets. "That's the only thing you want?" he asked. He closed his eyes after Hermione mouthed, "Yes."  
  
After a long silence, Ron lowered his head and kissed her on the cheek. "I think we better get going before people start wondering where we are."  
  
After Ron had left, Hermione walked into Harry's office and closed the door behind her. Harry glanced up at her over the rim of his glasses, but quickly lowered his head and continued with the paperwork in front of him. Hermione stood before him and placed her hand over where Ron had kissed her.   
  
"Where did you and Ron head off to?" Harry finally asked.  
  
"We went to that empty room down the hall for a little chat."  
  
"You sure were gone a long time." Although his quill was still in his hand, it was now hovering an inch above the parchment he had been writing on. "What did you guys talk about?"   
  
"He asked me to come to the game tomorrow," said Hermione. "And then we discussed the status of our relationship."   
  
The comment caused Harry's gaze to dart towards her. "And what is the status?"   
  
Hermione leaned against the wall, as a look of contentment flashed across her face. She casually crossed her arms in front of her, and answered, "We're going back to being friends."  
  
The quill dropped from Harry's fingers, making a blotchy mess on the corner of his parchment. But Harry did not notice. He slowly got up from his chair and approached her. "He's finally over you?"  
  
"Not exactly. But when I told him that I didn't want a romantic relationship, he kissed me on the cheek and walked out of the room. So, I guess that means he's fine with just being friends."   
  
"He didn't protest?" asked Harry. He placed a finger to his lips and furrowed his brows. "That doesn't sound right. Didn't you tell me that you had a fight with him the other night?"  
  
"I did, but...I'm guessing it finally got through to him that he and I will never be a couple again."   
  
Harry remained quiet. He then took Hermione's hand in his. "Do you know what this means?"   
  
"You and I are free to be together," Hermione responded. She gazed at him for a moment, before tilting her head up to meet his lips. Unlike the sense of alarm that plagued her when she was with Ron, Hermione was now at ease. She closed her eyes and responded wholeheartedly to the kiss.  
  
But Harry quickly pulled away and gave her an alarmed look. "What am I going to do about Ginny?"  
  
The blissful expression on Hermione's face quickly disappeared. She soon realized that she and Harry's love triangle actually involved four people. "I don't know. Can't you talk to her?"  
  
"When will I get the opportunity? I'll be stuck here all night with the paperwork, and I'll probably be working up until game time tomorrow."   
  
Hermione glanced at the window behind Harry and muttered, "Maybe you should have done that last night."  
  
Harry didn't respond for a moment; but he took the opportunity to observe the tense expression that was now growing on Hermione's face. "That's why you were ignoring me this morning. You're jealous."  
  
"No, I'm not—"  
  
"Listen, it's all right." He grabbed Hermione's shoulders and prevented her from walking away. "I would be, too, if I saw Ron at your house." Harry lowered his head and smiled to himself. "I was actually a little…well, I didn't like that you and he walked into that room and closed the door."  
  
His hands slid down Hermione's arms, until he tangled his fingers around hers. "Nothing happened with Ginny last night," he said. "Nothing's ever happened with her. We've never slept together. And I'm glad we didn't, because when I tell her about you, she won't think I was using her just for sex."  
  
"I really doubt that. I can tell that she likes you. So, she's definitely going to feel betrayed, regardless of whether you guys had sex or not." Hermione took a deep breath as her expression grew gloomier. "Maybe you should postpone telling her until after tomorrow." Seeing the look that Harry was now giving her, she added, "Tomorrow's supposed to be a happy day for her family, with the match and all. And I don't want her to be upset."  
  
Harry nodded. "You're right. I'll wait."  
  
"And…when you tell her, please don't mention that you're seeing me. We should wait awhile before we start telling people that we're a couple. I think that might be a little easier for Ginny and her brother."  
  
"That's very considerate of you," said Harry. He brought his hand to her face and brushed his fingers against her cheek. He then wrapped his arm around Hermione and pulled her into another embrace. 


End file.
